Finding what was once Lost
by BleedingTwilight
Summary: Second chances are a gift not often bestowed.  When such a gift is laid before the silent scout, will he take it or will he forfeit his only chance at happiness. M in later chapters
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything from King Arthur so please don't sue me.**

AN: This was originally supposed to be a one shot, but I liked it so it will continue. This one is quite a bit more lighthearted than any of my other stories, so I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think of it.

Chapter 1: Knives

'One, two…One, two, three…One, one, one,' came the mental notes of a knight who had seen too many battles, and therefore needed too many weapons. Tristan tallied off each knife and weapon that he removed from his person. Some were grouped in sets while others came off alone. Each one was mentally noted before it was put into its chest for the night's safe keeping. Tristan stood over his small threadbare cot as he disarmed. It was usually a quick process, but the arrowhead in his left shoulder was making this process anything but speedy.

Tristan could feel the renewed flow of his hot blood with every unnecessary movement of his arm. He had had far worse injuries than a small arrowhead shallowly dug into the flesh of his shoulder, so he barely noticed the tingling in his joint as he continued to work. The wound had not bled a great deal, nor had it even pained him until a certain angry Woad had twisted it, out of spite for losing an eye to the deft scout. The Woad had soon lost more important body parts of his anatomy than his eye for his trouble, such as his head. Tristan let a small smirk creep unto his features as he remembered the look on the Woads severed head. The man had a look of surprise that seemed as though he had not expected the scout to retaliate. It was almost comical how the natives still underestimated the deadly scout, even though he had probably sent more of them to their graves than all the others combine.

'Three, four…one,' Tristan continued as he removed the blades along his chest and sides. As Tristan carefully relinquished a small dagger from his lower sleeve, the door to his room creaked slightly. Tristan did not bother to lift his head as Dagonet slipped his large frame into the scout's humble room.

"Did you report to Arthur yet," The large knight asked as he sat upon the cot beside the arrangement of weapons. Tristan simply nodded, but he never stopped in his process. "Did you have a good trip," Dagonet questioned as he arranged his own affects upon the bed. Where as Tristan's were objects of war, Dagonet's possession were that of peace and healing. The two men were as different as night and day, but they had forged a strong friendship over the years. They were both quiet, and it was their silent acceptance of each other that made way for their fierce bond.

"Nothing to complain about," Tristan replied as he paused briefly in his disarmament. Dagonet nodded, knowing that Tristan could have faced an entire army of Woads, Saxons, and Romans and would have found nothing to complain about. Dagonet knew that wasn't the case on this night though, because he had only seen a small arrow wound as he had entered the room.

'One, two,' Tristan's mind still buzzed as he continued. 'One,' he finally said as he removed the final dagger from his torso and sleeves. Slowly Tristan began to pull his coat off his shoulders, being very careful of his wounds.

"Here Tris, I've got that," Dagonet said as he gently aided Tristan in removing his coat then his tunic. Once Tristan's chest was bare, Dagonet inspected the arrow head that protruded from his shoulder blade. "It is not deep. You were very lucky," Dagonet said as he watched the scout for any reaction. Most would not notice, but Dagonet could see Tristan let out a sigh as to say that he was just happy to be alive for another day. Tristan faced death far more often than any of the other knights, and it surprised most of the knights that he hadn't been overcome by it yet.

Dagonet left Tristan to his silence for several minutes as he prepared to remove the arrowhead then close the wound. Tristan waited patiently for the searing pain that came with the extraction of any weapon from flesh. He knew Dagonet was as gentle as he could be, but it never felt good no matter how shallow the wound was. Tristan was not one to fear pain, but he was weary from riding hard and just wished for sleep.

As Dagonet pulled the roughly made arrow from Tristan's shoulder, he could feel the younger man flinch slightly. It was only when Dagonet was tending Tristan's wounds that he knew the scout could actually feel the outside world. Any other occasion seemed to lead people to believe that he was no more than a specter that would weave in and out of the forest like the Woads themselves. Dagonet, however, had seen the scout feel the burdens of pain and suffering as well as the joys of love. Tristan was real even though he lived in a manner far from any other.

Dagonet's line of thought brought him to that of love. As he carefully cleaned the wound that had renewed its bleeding, he commented, "Abigail has returned to the village." Dagonet didn't receive the reaction he had hoped for, which would have been any reaction at all. "She is looking well again. I heard that her betrothed was found with another, so the engagement was called off," Dagonet said further hoping the scout would say anything.

Tristan simply began his ritual again as he listened to Dag, instead of showing his interest. 'One, two…One, one,' Tristan's mind supplied once again.

"She asked about you, at the tavern last night," Dagonet prodded further. "She said she missed you."

"I was not the one betrothed to a Roman soldier. She has no right to miss me," Tristan said as he removed a thin but strong piece of rope from his boot. Dagonet just shook his head at the multitude of odd weapons his friend possessed.

"It wasn't by choice, you know. Her father basically sold her off in order to pay for his land. She even refused Lancelot's charms last night," Dagonet said in the sweet villager's defense.

"It is not terribly difficult to resist Lancelot's charms if you are even slightly self-respecting," Tristan said as he straightened up for Dagonet to actually sew up the wound.

"Don't try to fool me Tristan. I know that you missed her when she left with that legionary. She was no happier than you were with the situation," Dagonet growled as he continued to weave the hot needle through the scout's torn flesh. "She still sneaks off with the soldiers' horses when she wants to go for a ride," Dagonet said with a small smile.

"I believe that was what led to her betrothal to the boar," Tristan said with a hiss as the needle caught a particularly sensitive spot. "She can enjoy her rides and her Romans for all I care. I made the mistake of bedding her once, and I shall not make it again," the scout said with finality.

"There was more than bedding between you two, and you know it," Dagonet sighed realizing he had started a battle that was hopeless. "I simply wished to tell you that she was back, and asking about how you were. I didn't mean to upset you," the gentle giant assured Tristan.

"I know Dag, and I also know that the others probably already have a pool going for whether or not we will return to each other. I just do not wish to go through the trouble," Tristan said as he raised his arms slightly to allow Dagonet to wrap cloth around the wound.

"And running into a swarm of Woads is no trouble at all," Dagonet asked skeptically. Dagonet knew the scout better than any of the other knights, so he knew that the scout did in deed have buttons which could very easily be pushed. However, Dagonet was the only one that ever had the satisfaction of surviving after teasing the scout.

"It is different…Let me guess. Your money is on us getting back together," Tristan said as he rose from the bed to continue removing his weapons and gear.

"Actually, smart money is on Galahad stealing her from you. She complimented his skirt… I mean kilt, last night," Dagonet laughed as he rose from the cot and collected his supplies. "Poor kid doesn't know what he's in for." Dagonet didn't often speak so freely or joke so openly, but the scout managed to make him smile from time to time, and the subject of the scout's former lover always brought light to a conversation.

"Good luck to him," Tristan said as he removed two more daggers.

"Do you ever think that you carry a few too many weapons, Tristan," Dagonet said from the doorway as he glanced back at the covered cot. Tristan just glared at him as he removed several long needles from the lining of his second boot. "Point taken," Dagonet replied. "I'll see you at the tavern later, and if you're interested, Abigail is living with the old seer down by the river. He father refused to take her back after the disgrace of her betrothed leaving her." Dagonet simply shut the door as he left, leaving Tristan to his task.

'One, two… where is one,' Tristan thought as he looked for his final dagger in his pant leg. Tristan never miscounted, even when distracted by Dagonet or the others. He had never miscounted his blades in his stay at the fort. Quickly going through an inventory in his head, Tristan came up one short yet again. Tristan sat on the cot beside his weapons as he quickly removed his boots then searched his breeches in quest of his final blade. The small perfectly balanced blade was nowhere to be found, however. Tristan often lost daggers, hence carrying so many, but he always remembered when he lost one. Today, he could not think of using any of his hidden artillery except for a single blade in his breastplate.

Tristan cursed silently as he tried to recall what could have happened to the small blade. Had it been any other item, he might have let it go without worry since he had many to replace it. However, the small blade that now lay somewhere beyond Tristan's reach was one of a kind. It was a simple dagger, but it was the reason he had met Abigail.

The young Briton had stolen a Roman's horse to go for a short ride, and had been caught. Instead of punishing her, the Roman had decided to sell her to the man who could win a knife throwing contest. Tristan had entered simply for the sport of beating as many Romans as possible. He had won, and in turn was given Abigail for the night. He hadn't bedded her that night, but instead he had listened to her stories long into the evening. She was a fascinating creature. She had deep red hair that looked almost dark brown in some lights, and a pair of brown eyes to match. She always had her long hair braided and twisted up behind her head. To the common eye, she simply looked like another of the hardworking villagers' daughters. However, Abigail was the very essence of trouble.

Tristan had let her go after that night, and he had never expected to see her again. That lasted until she decided to steal his horse to take her ride through the sprawling hills. Tristan had been given a dispatch to carry to the next fort along the Wall when he had realized that his mount was missing. He had cursed and nearly beheaded Jols when the squire informed him that a sweet young woman had said Tristan had given her permission to stretch his horse. Abigail had returned faithfully as the sun began to set, and Tristan had only shaken his head at her antics. Though people feared him, Tristan did have a sense of humor and her stealing his horse hadn't truly bothered him. His mount had been well cared for and the creature very rarely was allowed to run freely. Abigail had told him the night she had spent with him that she had taken care of horses when she was younger, so he knew his steed was in good hands. Though Tristan rarely let another even approach his animals, he could not find it in himself to reprimand that beaming girl. What did bother him though was the fact that because he had had to wait for her return, he ended up riding for hours in the rain that night.

She had constantly been trouble for the scout, but he enjoyed her jovial company none the less for it. She was quite witty and her tongue was as sharp as a knife. It was only fitting that he had met her with the throw of a dagger. She had also been a hard worker. Her father had depended strongly on his fields and in his growing age, Abigail was left to tend most of him crops. She basically took care of her father cooking, cleaning, mending, working. She could not read, but she could tell many stories for all to hear. She could not sing like Vanora or any of the other wenches, but she could dance circles around them all. She could not fall in love with a knight, she was forbidden to, but that didn't stop her from finding Tristan.

They had found a love for one another in their own unique ways over the months they had gotten to know each other. However, their relationship had abruptly ended after her father had basically sold her to a Roman soldier looking for a quick bride. Tristan had been as close to heart broken as a man such as he could get, and Abigail was not so thrilled with her father's pick for her either.

Tristan simply rolled up his cases of weapons that lay on his cot, as he tried to forget the past. Abigail was back, but their relationship would never be the same. Tristan was getting older and with age came a dislike of the unpredictable. Tristan only counted on two things these days: his blades and the fact that there would always be an enemy to use them on.

XxX

I hope you liked this, please tell me what you think of it.


	2. The Pain of Loss

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

Chapter 2: The Pain of Loss

Tristan didn't visit the tavern that evening. He knew very well, that Abigail would make it her business to be in the tavern serving each of the knights with smiles and innocent promises. It was simply her personality that led her to unknowingly become quite a temptress. Abigail was actually a very innocent girl, being no more than eighteen summers in age, but she allowed herself to seem experienced for her own entertainment. Tristan once again found himself shaking his head at her antics as he slipped out of his quarters toward the stables.

Dagonet knew Tristan was still unpleased with how things had ended with his former lover. Tristan was not the type of man to take many women, like Lancelot or Gawain might; however, when Tristan did take a woman he was fiercely protective of her. Tristan was not a possessive man but he did value his few friends and lovers greatly. Tristan had let Abigail go freely when she became betrothed to the Roman. He had not spoken to or confided in anyone after it was over, but Dagonet knew that Tristan let Abigail go because he wanted her to be happy and he would not stop her from finding it, even if it was without him. Dagonet had come to the tavern just after leaving Tristan's room, and had been standing at the bar beside Vanora ever since.

"Do you think she came back for him," Vanora asked letting her romantic heart show. "It would be so lovely if she had come back just for him," the vibrant redhead said as she filled Dagonet's mug.

"She came back for herself. She's too smart to come back to face disgrace on a whim. She knows the scout better than any of us. She has something planned for him, and she knows just how to get it out of him," Dagonet said darkly as he glanced over to where the woman in question stood with her deft fingers wrapped in Galahad's mused curls while her other hand carried a pitcher of ale.

"Oh don't talk like that. She's a beautiful girl, and she has never done anything to warrant such remarks," Vanora scolded lightly as she called over one of the other serving wenches for a new pitcher.

"I never knew you to be blind Vanora. Anyone with two eyes could see that Abigail is up to something," Dagonet pointed out quietly as Abigail was pulled right into Galahad's lap with a laugh.

"I never said she wasn't up to something. I just think that her motives are not as sinister as you make them out to be. I've known the girl since she was just a slip of a thing, and trust me, if she is overly friendly it is just her nature. There is not an unkind bone in her body," Vanora replied knowingly. "Oh, I almost forgot to ask… Did you complete the task I asked of you?"

"Yes, Tristan is aware of her presence," Dagonet said as he rolled his kind eyes.

"Wonderful, I bet he will be seeking her out before the night is over. Tristan loves her, you'll see," Vanora beamed as she rounded the bar with a tray on her hip and a bump in her belly.

"I wouldn't be so sure Vanora," Dagonet sighed regretfully. "I don't think that Tristan is willing to suffer disappointment again so soon."

"It has been nearly a year. What makes him so fragile? He is the most detached man I have ever met, given I love him like my own brother, but he needs someone like Abigail to keep him in touch with the rest of the world," Vanora paused before heading toward an empty table.

"Vanora, why are you even so interested in Tristan and Abigail," Dagonet asked knowing that Vanora would have to have a good reason to act so hastily.

Vanora stopped and sat at the small table that she was about to clean off. Dagonet took that as his cue to join her. He sat across from the normally very reserved woman. "Abby confided in me a long time ago," Vanora said with a sigh as she rubbed her protruding stomach. "She was barely fourteen summers when she came to me asking about love. She came to me because she thought that I must be in love with Bors in order to have four children with him without any kind of promise from him," Vanora laughed at the girl's logic.

Vanora did love Bors fiercely, but her number of children had nothing to do with it. She loved the boisterous knight for more reasons than she could possibly count, and their children were just a symbol of that endless love. "Anyway, she asked me how I knew I was in love, so I told her when I knew it and how. Then, I asked her why she wished to know. She told me that she believed that she was in love with this mysterious knight that came and went from the fort like a ghost. She said that she had never met him, but she had heard people talk of him. She said that she always watched him pass her father's house then sit in the fields while his horse ran free, just gazing at the sky. She said he looked so lonely, and that every time she saw him she knew more and more that she would have no other man."

"Why did she wish to know about love then if she had already made up her mind," Dagonet asked amusedly.

"She just wanted someone to talk to. She obviously couldn't speak to that boar of a father she has," Vanora said dismissively.

"But why go through so much trouble. If she is so determined, then why not leave it to her?"

"She came to me before she was to leave with the legion. She told me that she needed a favor. She needed two silver coins before she left with Demetrius. She needed to visit the woman that she stays with now," Vanora trailed off leaving it to Dagonet to find the answer for himself.

"She was with child," he said knowingly.

"She cried to me for hours that night telling me over and over that she didn't want to do it, but if she kept the child then she would be cast out when Demetrius found out. She would have nothing, and she refused to burden Tristan because he never wanted children. She gave up two things a girl should never have to give away just to be disgraced and cast out months later by a man who wouldn't know love if it bit him in the ass," Vanora spoke sadly. "Tristan may be upset about how things ended, but Abigail bares a far heavier burden. If she still loves him then I will do everything in my power to reunite them. Does that answer your question, Dag?"

"She should have told him. Tristan may be many things, but uncaring he is not. He would have taken her in and kept her safe, but I shall not judge her decisions. However, I still think that if she wishes to have the scout back, then she will need no help in doing so," the large knight said as he rose from the bench and offering Vanora a hand to rise. Vanora smiled and took the proffered hand. "Shall we join your lover? He looks lonely without you adorning his lap," he said with a gentle smile.

The pair moved carefully to the knights' table as Vanora went to join Bors, and Dagonet went to join his friends. "Let me go, you fool," they heard Abigail laugh as they approached. "I need to work… No I shall not warm your bed this evening," she said with mirth in her eyes as Galahad whispered in her ear. The others ignored the youngest knight as he desperately tried to proposition that spirited Abigail. They knew very well that Abigail was Tristan's even if he no longer laid claim on her. It would be disrespectful to go for another's lover. Even Lancelot, who was known to joke about bedding Vanora, would never actually follow through on the act.

Bors called over to Vanora as she approached and immediately pulled her into his lap while patting Dagonet on the back for bringing his lover to him. Abigail extracted herself from Galahad and promised to bring more drinks as she slipped off. "It is good the have the lass back," Bors said cheerfully as he raised his glass. Everyone agreed loudly as they each took up their own mugs.

Abigail sighed heavily as she stepped behind the bar to retrieve a pitcher of ale for the knights. Strands of dark hair slipped into her face showing that she had been working for quite a while. The young Briton had taken the job readily in order to pay for her stay at the fort, but she had hoped that her hard work would be rewarded with a glimpse of the scout from time to time. As she slowly rose with another filled pitcher, she took a long look around the tavern. She knew it was futile because she would have known immediately if he had entered, but she did it anyway.

_She had seen him enter the fort earlier that day. She had been sitting in the rafters of the stable deciding whose mount would make the best companion on a long ride, when he had entered. Abigail had remained out of sight for fear of his scorn, but as she watched him she remembered exactly why she had returned. Abigail was about to make her presence known to the scout when he finished abruptly and stalked off. Abigail had slipped from the rafters into Tristan's mount's stall. The large grey still remembered her as he rubbed his velvety muzzle against her shoulder. Abigail had spent several minutes spoiling the stallion before she noticed a small knife lying in the hay. _

"_This is no good," she said concernedly as she picked up the small weapon. "Your master is getting careless," she said as she inspected the blade. She smiled slightly as she realized that it would give her an excuse to speak to him when she returned it._

Abigail returned to the table carrying the new pitcher and a renewed smile. The knights welcomed her gift readily as she filled each of the mugs before turning to Vanora. "Tis getting rather late. I was wondering if I might be allowed…" she was cut off.

"Go girl. You may return to you bed. I will see you tomorrow," Vanora dismissed the younger woman kindly. Abigail nodded gratefully before she retreated to retrieve her cloak as she left the tavern. Galahad excused himself only minutes later, much to the other knights' irritation.

"He courts trouble," Gawain said resignedly. The others nodded their agreement, but made to move to stop the foolish young knight.

"Abigail wait, I shall walk you home," Galahad called as he followed the young woman. Abigail did not protest but she did not encourage him either as she walked silently. "We were just saying, how glad we are that you have returned to the fort. You always bring good times with you," Galahad said breathlessly as he fell into step with her. Abigail just shrugged her shoulders uncaringly as she continued. "Are you unwell," he asked concernedly.

"I am perfectly well, sir knight. I am simply tired and wish to return to my home presently. I am still recovering from my journey here," Abigail said apologetically. Galahad nodded understandingly before, without warning, he swept her into his arms. "Galahad…"

"You are tired, so I shall carry you home. We will get there faster, if you are so concerned," he said lightly. Abigail just shook her head, but did not ask to be put down. She truly was tired, and did not wish to argue with the young knight.

Tristan sat atop the wall watching Galahad carry Abigail home. The scout let out a growl as he rubbed the chest feathers of his hawk. "It seems she has forgotten me rather quickly, does it not," he asked the bird darkly. The large hawk twisted its head to look at the scout oddly, then took off to circle the pair below the wall. Upon its return, the bird just sat comfortably on his wrist. "You still like her don't you," Tristan asked as he watched the way the bird's eyes followed the two young people move through the fort. The bird just looked at him, and Tristan knew the bird was still just as protective of the small woman as he was. "Is she really worth the trouble," he asked himself more than the bird as he gazed up at the stars remembering the love he once had for her.

XxX

Thank you to my wonderful reviewer. I am glad that you enjoyed this so far. This chapter was a little darker, but I promise the story will get more lighthearted.

As always I value what you think so please review!


	3. A Chance Meeting

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

Chapter 3: Chance Meeting

Tristan rose before dawn out of habit, though he had nothing to coax him from the threadbare covers on this morning. Arthur had given the knights a day of rest from their daily routine of practices and battles. Arthur himself had matters to attend to, so he couldn't be there to monitor them anyway, which was often necessary if Lancelot decided to irritate some Roman officials. Tristan glanced at the open window above his bed to determine whether to go back to sleep or actually get up and brave the day.

The first thing Tristan saw was his hawk's deep brown feathers fluffed like porcupine would its quills. Her feathers were all standing on end, and Tristan knew without even looking outside that the rains had come. As he actually looked past the bird and into the sky, all he could see was dark grey with the rare streak of gold or white passing through it. "Not fun to fly in, eh," Tristan said mirthfully. The bird obviously didn't take kindly to his attitude, and nudged a dead and sopping mouse off the ledge and into Tristan's lap. Tristan just glanced at it with little emotion and watched as the bird glided down to retrieve the small meal. She always knew how to put him in his place with little effort.

Tristan knew that he should probably get up and start his chores for the day, but as he turned on his side to rise, he felt his eyelids disagree. He had been scouting for several days, and his body finally decided to enjoy some much needed rest.

Several hours past what would have been dawn, had the clouds dispersed, saw Tristan emerge from the knights' barracks covered in a thick cloak. Tristan was not in the mood for company on his lone day of relaxation. He planned on retrieving a meager serving of bread and cheese from Vanora, then disappearing on horseback for the rest of the day. As Tristan entered the kitchens, he saw Vanora arguing with a very disheveled Bors.

"Just because _you_ do not have duties to attend to on this day, does not mean that I can just forget my own," Vanora yelled while wielding a stew covered ladle. Tristan smiled because he knew exactly what the argument was about. Every time Bors had a free day, he would argue with Vanora in order to get her to stay in bed with him all day. It was entertaining to watch the couple argue, but Tristan knew that Vanora always own, only to give in several hours later when the other girls came in to cook.

"Come now, Van, I might not live to my next day off," Bors tried as he hugged the angry redhead to his chest.

"You said that the last time you had a free day. I'm still waiting for you to get killed. If it doesn't happen soon, I might do it myself," She said loudly even though they both knew there was no fire in her words. She worried every time they rode out, and she was the first to greet them when they returned. Tristan just turned to the oven where several loaves of bread were baking. He was about to slip one out when Vanora turned to him. "And what do you think you're doing," she bellowed.

"Morning, Vanora," Tristan said emotionlessly as he licked the finger he had burned when she yelled.

"Don't morning me, scout! I worked all morning on those loaves, and you're just going to steal one to share with all the woodland creatures when you go out riding. I don't think so. If my lover can't have what he wants, what makes you think you'll be so lucky," she said as she came at him with ladle in hand.

"Perhaps because what I seek shall not leave you with another babe on your hands," Tristan replied as he tried to ignore the gibe about sharing his food with his animals. "I only seek a loaf and some cheese. It is less that you feed me during meals, which I won't be attending today," Tristan explained patiently knowing that Vanora was simply having a bad morning. Vanora usually took very good care of the scout, so he tended to be more accepting of her mood swings, while she was pregnant, than most of the knights.

"I'll give you your supplies on one condition," Vanora said with an evil glint in her eyes.

"No I shall not speak to Abigail. If you are unwilling to supply me food, then I shall go elsewhere. Good day, Vanora," Tristan said knowing her line of thought even before she did.

"Why won't you speak to the lass? She's done nothing to warrant your scorn," Vanora said irritably.

"Perhaps you forget, but she chose to leave me for a Roman soldier. I owe her nothing nor does she owe me. I prefer to leave it that way," Tristan said as he headed for the door at the back of the kitchens.

"You were friends first, Tristan. Do you value friendship so little that you would end one because of a decision that wasn't even hers to make," Vanora called as the door to the kitchens shut silently.

Tristan pulled his hood over his head again as he walked toward the market. It was unlikely that any vendors would be doing business in this weather, but it was the only chance he would have to get fed this day. As he trudged through the deep muddy puddles of the fort, Tristan popped the side of his burnt thumb into his mouth in attempt to sooth the offended digit. The scout had had many injuries of far greater proportions, but he loathed burns with a special passion. He still carried a scar from a burn he had acquired during childhood.

Running down his side was the scar tissue he had received while his mother had been birthing his younger sister. Tristan had been but seven winters old, and he had snuck into the hut where his mother was in labor. It was deep winter at the time, and he had simply wished to find some warmth, away from the chilled steppes. He had inadvertently snuck up behind the midwife as she had retrieved a caldron of heated water for the birthing. As she turned with the pot, she hadn't expected to find Tristan standing there. She was so startled that she had spilled half the contents of the caldron before she realized it. Tristan's entire side had been burned even through his thick clothes. Tristan had never minded scars a great deal, but it was the fact that the day he acquired that one was the day he lost not only his mother but his newborn sister.

Tristan entered the deserted market with hopes of nourishment quickly dwindling. He could already hear the few villagers in the streets begin to whisper about him. Words like outcast, monster, beast, and demon were commonly heard while one spoke of the aloof scout. Tristan attempted to ignore their comments as best he could, while he went in search of a meal.

Tristan was at the end of the marketing area with little more than a headache and a sopping cloak to show for his efforts. At least the end of the market ran beside the rear of the stable. Tristan was just resigning himself from the idea of finding a meal when he heard a voice call out to him.

"Well if it isn't Arthur's loyal scout," the words had an edge to them that was sarcastic while still remaining friendly. "What brings a man, such as you, to our humble part of the fort," Abigail asked sardonically.

"Abigail," Tristan said by way of greeting as he stepped toward the stand she leaned against. He heard Vanora's words in his head, and felt that he could at least be civil to his former lover.

"I am honored that you remember my name, sir knight. Have you come to find yourself another unsuspecting farm girl to whisk away," She said with a cruel smirk.

"I came in search of food, nothing else," Tristan replied as he stood before the much shorter woman. Abigail's dark hair was once again tied back in a thick bun; however, the heavy rain made several strands stick to her lightly freckled face.

"Are you not served enough in the tavern? Must you come down here and steal our poor rations as well," Abigail asked playfully as she stepped closer to the scout.

"I do no such thing. I come with coin to buy bread or fruit," Tristan answered civilly.

"Is that so you can wine and dine another…" Abigail was cut off mid sentence by the scouts accented voice. They were mere inches apart by this point and Abigail had to stand on her toes to see into the scout's eyes beneath his hood.

"You act as if I was the one to abandon you, yet I remember it the other way around," Tristan whispered in emotionless defense.

"The silent scout has found his voice after all these years," Abigail said as she leaned just a little closer to the scout's angular face.

"Only when wrongfully accused," Tristan replied as he stepped around Abigail to inspect the stand that she tended. Abigail stood for a moment not having expected him to step past her so casually, as though he could dismiss her with little thought.

"Wrongfully accused," she arched a brow at his own accusation.

"I hear that you have been enjoying Galahad's affections as of late," Tristan said casually as he smelled a sack of herbs hanging from a post on the cart.

"Is that what this attitude is about? Well, Galahad is an affectionate boy, but he is too childish to be considered much else," Abigail dismissed the notion as she took the sack from Tristan's gentle hands, and returned it to its place.

"Do not condemn others for attributes that you yourself are in possession of," Tristan said harshly as he moved away from the stand.

"You are still bitter, Tristan? Even though you made no objection to me leaving," Abigail said sadly as she watched his form glide over the muddy earth.

"I don't have time to argue, Abigail. I must scout," Tristan lied knowing that Abigail would continue until she got the answers she wanted out of him, if he didn't just leave.

"But you have not rations to feed yourself with," The young woman reasoned as she watched him turn to her once again. "Come, Neasa always has enough bread to feed an entire village. And if you're good, I might be able to persuade her into parting with one of her apples," Abigail said with a sigh as she slipped into the street and led the way toward the hut she was staying in. Tristan rolled his eyes as he followed the one person he had hoped to avoid that day, toward her own abode. She hadn't changed during her absence, he attitudes still changed with a slight breeze.

As they walked, they could hear people whispering the latest gossip about Tristan. Abigail had never been one to take the villagers insults lightly because she was one of few people that knew that their comments actually hurt the scout in some way. Upon hearing the cruel commentary of their journey, Abigail dropped back to walk beside the scout and slipped his hand into his larger one. Tristan tensed while continuing to walk. Abigail had always been an affectionate girl, but Tristan was not one to revel in unexpected contact. It was simply a self-preservation instinct.

"I missed you," She said as she rested her head against his shoulder while they walked. Tristan just sighed and allowed her what she wanted; little did he know that she was simply doing it to irritate the villagers. "Did you miss me," she asked as she shifted her head to glance up at him. Tristan grunted in answer and Abigail playfully hit him in the chest. "It's not nice to grunt at people," she scolded half heartedly. Tristan just replied with another grunt. Abigail sighed and detached herself from the scout's side. They walked in silence the rest of the way to the small hut that housed the elderly healer and the young villager.

Neasa sat outside grinding several different types of herbs when Abigail approached with the scout. The hunched and frail healer didn't even seem to notice the thick droplets of rain as they pelted her where she sat. Abigail smiled widely at the old woman and embraced her in a tight hug. "Neasa, Tristan needs some bread so he can go scouting. Can't I give him a loaf," the energetic woman asked her hostess.

"Give him whatever you wish, dear," Neasa replied as she picked up her mortar and pestle once again. Abigail smiled and slipped into the hut, leaving Tristan outside with the quiet healer. "You are lying to her already," the woman said without stopping what she was doing.

Tristan just looked at Neasa and remembered why he avoided the woman. She had an even more frightening ability to know a person's thoughts and actions than even Tristan. However, the elderly woman never judged what she learned of people. That was the reason she was often sought out when an unsavory task needed completing such as terminating a pregnancy or finding the right poison for a job. "Everyone lies," Tristan replied coldly.

"You wish to avoid her because you still love her," the woman asked without listening to his previous answer. "You want to believe that she came back for you, but you're too stubborn to believe that anyone would do such a thing for you of all people."

"No, 'tis simply that I wish to go for a ride. It is already midday and it will only get later if I am left to listen to her banter. I am not free as she is, I do not have the time to constantly enjoy myself," Tristan replied briskly as he watched Abigail appear from within the hut carrying a cloth full of bread and cheese. Neasa just smiled at his excuse. He probably believed it himself, but Neasa knew better than to believe such an idea.

"I hope this will suffice. It will not last you more than a day, but you have never starved before, so long as you carried your bow," Abigail said kindly as she handed him the small bundle. Tristan took it without a word and turned to head back to the stable so that he could actually complete what he had set out to do. "I pray that you have a safe journey," Abigail called as he walked away vanishing into the curtains of rain.

Neasa turned to the beautiful Briton, once the scout had left, with her worn face looking peaceful. "You frighten him," the woman said knowingly.

Abigail laughed lightly before replying, "Tristan fears nothing, especially not a small woman such as myself."

"He may not fear a small woman, but he does fear what she might do to his heart… what she has already done to his heart," Neasa said with a small smile.

"Tristan doesn't have a heart, Neasa. When we were together, he told me that he believed in only two things: his weapons and the fact that he would always have someone to use them on. Not exactly what I would call romantic," Abigail laughed.

"Yet you've known him to be otherwise," Neasa said as she rose from the ground holding her new concoction.

"I have known Tristan to be a good listener who is not as fierce or wicked as everyone says he is. However, I have never known him to be passionate about anything but war," Abigail sighed as she aided the elderly healer into the hut.

"Perhaps his love lies in the fact that he allowed you to see him as something other than a battle hardened warrior. As you said, no one knows him as anything else," Neasa pointed out sagely as she sat beside the hearth. Abigail didn't reply, but instead thought on her friend's wise words.

XxX

Another chapter that I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know what you think of this so far because your reviews definitely help inspire me.


	4. The Rains of Change

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. It is as simple as that.**

Chapter 4: The Rains of Change

The soft breeze weaving through his thick braids succeeded in melting away the troubles Tristan had brought with him on this ride. He could feel the sleek muscles of his powerful stallion stretch and relax as the horse finally was able to run freely. How good it felt to be free, if only for a moment. Tristan found himself simply breathing in the crisp afternoon air as he let his horse carry him where it willed. No one could bother him out here, not even the Woads would pester him as he rode alongside the wall wandering the vividly green hillsides.

Tristan had no need for another to occupy his time as he felt the freedom of not knowing where he was going, but instead putting his faith in his mount to get him there safely. His hawk glided on the drafts overhead as Tristan leaned back to watch her. He was at peace as he rode. He remembered the times he had found Abigail out here while returning from a mission and ending up roaming with her. She was the only other person that he knew who loved the simplicity of riding without a purpose.

Most people at the fort thought that Tristan only enjoyed one thing, and that was killing, but Tristan found joy in simple things as well. He would never admit it, but he immensely enjoyed a steaming bath after a grueling mission. He enjoyed Vanora's sweet singing at the tavern on lonely nights. He even enjoyed how Vanora and the other knights actually took an interest in his affairs. It was possibly the only thing that truly assured Tristan that they cared for him. Words were hollow, but actions spoke the truth.

Abigail's actions had spoken a truth that Tristan had feared for a long time. She had chosen her father's whim over her lover's heart. Tristan could not fault her for her decision because it was the most dutiful one, but he could not trust her with his heart again because others might already be held closer by hers.

Most of the villagers and even most of the knights believed that Tristan was fearless, but Tristan feared as did all the rest of them. He feared dying a useless death such as from illness or infection. He feared losing another brother to this enslavement they had to endure. But most of all, he feared losing what remained of his heart. Tristan's heart was a fragile thing because it had given itself away too freely in the past. A bit had died with his father, his mother, his sister, his village, his first steed, his brothers, his first and only love. Tristan had but a meager portion of what was once an abundant passion, and he feared risking it on one who had already abused part of it.

She was back; there was no denying that fact. She still had that bright spark in her eye that had first entranced him. She was still as outgoing and troublesome as ever, and Tristan still felt his chest constrict when she frowned. But Tristan was not the same man he was when she left. What wasn't even a full year had seemed to age Tristan beyond his twenty-eight years. All of a sudden Tristan felt the gap between their ages open up to what it really was. Before she had gone, ten years seemed only moments to them as they had enjoyed each other's passion for life and love. Now ten years seemed like a ravine that any feelings he still felt for her would fall into never to be reciprocated.

Her acceptance of another's proposal had shown Tristan that perhaps he _was_ too old for her. She deserved a man as young and lively as she. Tristan was a warrior and with that came age beyond his years and death before his time. Tristan could not offer her the happiness that she could find in a man her own age.

Tristan became incensed with himself as he realized that he had not stopped thinking of Abigail since Dagonet had informed him of her return. He had banished her from his mind for over eight months, but now the feelings came rushing back like the opening of a flood gate. Tristan ran his fingers through his hair then looked about him. The clouds had yet to disperse but the rains had ceased for the time being. Tristan could feel the change in the air at night's approach and decided to return to the fort before he had to camp out in the open.

The dapple grey stallion enjoyed the swift gallop back toward the fort while Tristan once again enjoyed the feeling of the wind against his ever stoic face. As they reached the final rise before the Wall Tristan caught a glimpse of another form upon the hillside. Slowly he released a breath, knowing only one other person who enjoyed such rides. Tristan could have been stealthy and snuck past his former lover, but there was no use. She was very adept at sensing his presence just as he was at sensing hers. Slowly Tristan let his mount wander over to where she lay in the tall grass, beside her acquired mount for the day.

As Tristan moved closer he realized that it was Galahad's gelding which stood contentedly beside a breath taking Abigail. She lay in the grass with her dark red locks sprawled around her face in a blood red hallow. Her eyes were closed as she savored a piece of fruit and caressed the soft grassy earth. "You lied," the words slipped from her mouth in a breathless sigh attesting to her utter contentment.

Tristan frowned behind his braids as he watched her from atop his horse. "So I did," he replied emotionlessly.

Abigail tossed the core of her apple to Galahad's horse before she turned on her side to glare up at the knight. "So I should not believe a word that comes out of your mouth? I never knew you to be a liar, Tristan. You could have simply told me that my presence bothers you and taken your leave. I might have even been obliged to move back to Londinium if you had truly despised my presence," she said angrily as she plucked at the grass.

"Your business is your own as is mine," Tristan said as he felt his horse move a little closer to Abigail by its own will.

"Yes, but your business caused me to ask Galahad what mission you were scouting for. At that he told me you all had a free day. Do you know what I did the rest of the day while you got to roam free? I had Galahad following me around the entire fort because he thinks us a smart match," her voice oozed irritation. "'Much smarter than Tris and you, don't you think,' were his actual words," Abigail groaned as she got to her feet slowly. Her figure had changed if nothing else. She was much fuller and less the little slip that he had chased about the open fields so many times during their courtship.

"So you saw it fit to steal his horse for you enjoyment," Tristan remarked amusedly.

"If he doesn't have his mount, he can't follow me," she replied proudly as she mounted Galahad's steed. Tristan just rolled his eyes as Abigail flashed him a bright smile. "And I thought that you could use the company. Do you know what Vanora told me, the other night," Abigail asked with mischief in her warm brown eyes. Tristan just shook his head once as an answered and waited, knowing that she would more than willingly tell him. "She told me that you haven't taken a wench since I left," Abigail said quickly, then glanced at him to gauge his reaction.

Tristan just glared at her, and she knew that the rumor was true. She almost felt bad for bringing it up because most men didn't like to admit they were suffering from a period of abstinence. However, as a former lover she knew she could get away with it, and so on she pressed. "No women! Tristan, when did you lose your passion," she asked teasingly.

Tristan wanted to say, 'I lost it when I lost you,' but instead he replied, "What wench would I desire to bed at the fort?" He asked in a tone that belied his state of disgust, for it was true. There was not a single woman at the fort who he would wish to speak to, other than Vanora, never mind bed. Tristan was startled by Abigail's soft laugh, which was also something new. Abigail had always had a bright cheerful and loud laugh that most young girls tended to have. However, now Tristan heard the soft and airy laugh of one who had outgrown her childish ways.

"Tristan you are too harsh on everyone else. There are plenty of pretty girls at the fort, you're just too stubborn to go after them," Abigail said sweetly as she left Galahad's mount move closer to Tristan's so that she could see his eyes clearly through his hair.

"What one would want me," Tristan asked darkly. Tristan rarely let on to anyone that he noticed the whispers spread around the fort, but Abigail had always known of them. There was no use trying to hide it from her now. Even if he did not wish to be hurt by her again, he knew that she would always be kind to him. She would not throw such secrets in his face.

Abigail's face acquired a deep frown at Tristan's words. She had never thought that Tristan would have trouble coaxing the fort's women to his bed. He had always been so confident in her presence that she tended to forget what an introvert he truly was. She always thought that though most of the women of the fort tended to gossip about the scout, they would surely have no qualms about bedding any knight. However, Abigail reasoned that she was still young and knew little of other women's motives. "Perhaps if you smiled from time to time, the women would not be so cold to you," she replied calmly.

"You are still too young to understand," Tristan said not unkindly, but he had never used her age against her in the past. Abigail realized that Tristan was upset with her, but he was too kind to tell her openly that he wished his solitude.

"Perhaps I am, sir. I shall leave you to finish your ride in peace. I would hate to disturb you with my childish views," Abigail said almost snottily, completely embodying childishness. As she finished speaking, she kicked her mount into a gallop way from the fort. She may have rubbed it in his face, but Abigail left to honor his unspoken wish. She still cared a great deal about the scout, but he managed to frustrate her to no end, simply by being himself.

She rode hard, forgetting her own troubles and enjoying the dampening air. It would rain again, and she knew that if she didn't turn now she would not return in a dry state. However, if she turned now, she would meet with Tristan again and she refused to do that. So, on she rode with the spirit of an innocent but the experiences of one far from untainted. "Stupid scout! Will he never learn to enjoy life? Must he always be so… frustrating," she called to the darkening sky. "Any woman would be a fool not to welcome his meager affections. He is far more honorable than some of the others, such as Lancelot. And far more passionate if cared for. Women are fools, and I suppose I am one of them because I let him go," she ended on a whisper, regretting her past choices.

Tristan let Abigail go without complaint. Her presence only proved to unnerve him. She knew him better than anyone within the walls of the fort, and he found himself speaking to her even if he didn't want to. Solitude was the best way to avoid complicating the situation even more. She was a villager and he a knight. They had their own duties and there was no reason for them to interfere in each other's lives. This thought, however, did not last long.

Tristan was just entering the gates of the fort when the heavens renewed their assault of the already sodden land, and the storms began again. Tristan was happy that he could simply settle his horse then find warmth in his desolate room. That was when he heard the distant rumble of thunder over the rolling hills. Without even meaning to, Abigail came to mind. The girl, herself, was not fond of thunder. She loved rain, but thunder made her shake. She had braved storms before, but Tristan knew that Galahad's horse became very skittish during storms.

They had been out on patrol during a storm once, and a branch had fallen due to a lightning strike. It had missed the horse by mere inches, but it had clipped Galahad, causing him to fall from the saddle. The horse had bolted, leaving Galahad at the mercy of the elements. He was found the next morning by the rest of the patrol, and had only suffered a concussion and small fracture to his ankle. He had been fine within a couple of weeks, but the horse had not weathered storms well ever since. Now, Abigail was out there on a horse that would sooner throw her than stay out in the rain.

Tristan groaned as he turned from the gates. The guard on duty looked down at him with a confused expression, but Tristan ignored it. He was probably the only one who knew she was out there, and it would be his fault if she or the horse didn't return because he should have brought her back immediately. Tristan's mount turned with his master's guidance, but was anything but cooperative as the headed straight into the storm. Tristan's horse loved to run, but it had had its fun for the day, now it too wanted to settle in for the night. Tristan pushed it harder and harder as the thunder rumbled yet again. Lightning streaked the sky causing an eerie glow against the smoky backdrop.

Arthur was called to the wall, as Tristan vanished into the distance. "What is he doing out there," he asked to one of the guards. The soldier just shook his head in confusion, and Arthur sighed deeply. "He better return safely," was all Arthur said as he made his way back into the fort.

Tristan ignored the fact that the rain had instantly saturated his thin tunic because his heavy cloak was rolled tightly in a pack on the saddle. SO now his tunic stuck uncomfortably to him as he rode through the open fields. Only Abigail could succeed in causing the scout so much discomfort without even trying. He pushed his mount harder as he saw Galahad's gelding come bolting over the next rise. It was rider-less, and Tristan felt his heart plummet. He prayed to whatever god would still listen that she was not dead. He had seen Galahad's horse nearly trample Jols, who was well trained at handling wild horses, and he hoped it had not done the same to Abigail.

Abigail lay curled into a tight ball in the deep grass. Her long work dress was completely muddy from lying in the sodden field. She could feel her heart hammer with every bolt of lightning that lit the dark sky. She had never felt as alone as she did now. Galahad's horse and reared at the first sound of thunder. She had been thrown before she could even attempt to calm the creature. She had not sustained any terrible injuries upon her fall but her wrist was very tender now. Abigail just lay there hugging her legs, praying that someone might realize that she was missing.

She had little hope that Tristan would return for her because he had most likely arrived at the fort before the storm had hit, and didn't realize she was still out there. What seemed like hours, but in reality only minutes, passed as Abigail felt the tears of abandonment roll down her rosy cheeks. She was freezing in the chilled rain because she had left her cloak at the fort, hoping to return before the storm. She felt like the silly child Tristan had called her because of her foolish actions.

Abigail felt her eyes begin to droop as her teeth chattered, when she first heard the pounding of hooves against the ground. She prayed for anyone, whether Roman, Sarmatian, or even Woad at this point. She just wanted to be found by someone. Slowly and very weakly due to the bruises she sustained from her fall, Abigail lifted herself to her knees. She was shocked when she saw Tristan's powerful steed racing toward her.

Tristan was off his mount and crouching in the tall grass beside Abigail as soon as he came to a stop. His horse stood perfectly still in the torrent of rain and thunder as Tristan knelt before his soaked lover. Abigail was shaking violently as Tristan pulled her into an embrace. She was the only person who knew what it felt like to be held by the scout, but she was too upset to think of that at the moment.

"Abigail," Tristan whispered in her ear as he removed his heavy cloak from his pack and wrapped it around her tightly. "Are you injured," he asked as he rose to his feet. She began to cry harder at the loss of his touch. Quickly he came and lifted her into his arms so that he could place her on his mount. He heard her hiss as he jostled her slightly, and he repeated the question.

"My wrist," she bit out between shaking lips. Tristan immediately mounted up behind her, and clutched her to his chest. He turned his steed back toward the fort. As they rode he carefully removed her swelling wrist from his cloak. It was not terribly swollen yet, so he could rather easily feel that it was broken. He cradled it gently in his hand, while he had the other wrapped around her shoulders to keep her on the mount. His horse rode swiftly but smoothly careful not to jostle its load because Tristan was barely holding the reins in his hand as he let the horse guide them.

Thunder roared again above them and Tristan felt Abigail clutched him to her as if to hide from it. He pulled her closer to him and gently stroked her sopping hair as they made their way through the gates of the fort. Arthur was sitting in his study as the pair came galloping into the courtyard. Galahad's horse had been found rider-less at the gates only an hour earlier which had been odd because Galahad had never left the fort. Now Arthur saw who was responsible for the skittish horse's little adventure. He sighed with relief that Tristan had returned her even though the scout wanted as little contact with her as possible.

Jols was waiting for Tristan as they entered the stable. He held the reins as Tristan slipped off his stallion's back with Abigail still in his arms. Jols nodded dutifully to the scout before Tristan disappeared into the night with the small woman cradled in his arms. Abigail had been lulled into a light slumber by the scout's gentle caresses and enjoyed the little warmth his cloak provided her. Tristan marched through the village toward the outskirts to where Neasa's hut lay. He didn't bother to knock as he entered the small abode.

XxX

Thank you to everyone who reviewed and just read the last chapter. Your comments are greatly appreciated. I hope you liked this chapter, and please let me know what you thought.


	5. Paths of Discontent

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize**

Paths of Discontent

Neasa was sitting peacefully by the hearth as Tristan stormed in. She glanced up to see the menacing silhouette of Arthur's scout carrying a barely conscious Abigail in his arms. Neasa was ushering him to Abigail's small sleeping quarters before the scout even had a chance to breathe the herb laced air of the hut.

"What did you do to her," Neasa asked stonily as she pushed him into the room. Tristan ignored her accusatory question as he laid Abigail on the small cot. Neasa was by her side removing the wet garments before Tristan could turn to leave. "Don't just stand there, bring me some cloths and the water over the fire," Neasa ordered the wet scout. Tristan obeyed mechanically, not really paying attention to his motions. When he returned to the room, Abigail's soaked clothes lay on the floor while the woman herself was wrapped in a thick blanket.

Tristan placed the supplies beside Abigail's cot while Neasa quickly stoked a fire. Tristan found himself stroking the wet strands of hair out of Abigail's pained face. Neasa came up beside him as he longingly watched the prone girl. "What happened to her, Tristan," Neasa asked more calmly this time. Tristan moved to the side allowing her to tend Abigail.

"She stole Galahad's mount for a ride. The horse gets skittish in the rain. Must have tossed her," he reported quietly as he watched the elderly woman attend to Abigail's wrist without even being told of its injury.

"How long was she out there?"

"Over an hour. Took me too much time to find her in the storm," Tristan answered regretfully knowing that Abigail had little defense against the damp or cold. The woman didn't even reach Tristan's chin when she stood on her toes, nor did she weigh enough to avoid being tossed around like a child when Gawain or Bors was feeling affectionate. "I shouldn't have let her leave me," he berated himself.

"She will be fine, child," Neasa assured him in a way that anyone else would have feared to. "She is just chilled. She will be well in the morning, and her wrist will heal in its own time. It is not your fault that she is as strong willed as she is… Now let's get you out of those sopping garments before you catch your death," Neasa said as she turned to Tristan, having finished bandaging Abigail's wrist.

"I am fine," Tristan protested weakly through chattering teeth of his own. Neasa just shook her head and led him from the room. She guided him to a dark room on the other side of the house. Once inside, she lit a fire in the hearth, and placed a cauldron of water over it. There was a large stone tub in the center of the room, not unlike the ones in the Roman baths. Once the water over the fire had heated, Neasa retrieved it and poured it into the already waiting bath. The added water served to heat it sufficiently, and Neasa gestured toward the now steaming pool. "It will warm you, now get out of those sopping garments before you court yourself a cold," the elderly woman said as she shuffled toward the door.

Tristan just glanced from Neasa's retreating form to the bath and back again. But before he could utter a word of protest, Neasa was beside him pulling at the tunic that was sticking to his shaking chest. "If you do not heed my words, I shall treat you like the child you were when you arrived here," the sage healer warned as she pulled the tunic over his head and carried it toward the fire to dry. "Now, bathe yourself or I shall do it for you?" With that said Neasa removed herself from the room to check in on her charge.

Abigail had become like a daughter to the elderly woman when she had showed up on her doorstep in the pouring rain, not a year earlier. Abigail had had tears flowing down her cheeks in rivers to match the droplets of rain, but she was determined in her quest. Neasa had nearly refused the girl, because she could sense that the girl wanted the child more than anything. However, when Neasa heard who the father was, she immediately, though regretfully, brought the girl the herbs necessary for eliminating the child. Neasa was a healer and she hated to use her skills to eliminate a life that had never had the chance to grow. However, Neasa had heard that Abigail was to marry a Roman, and for the girl to bear a Sarmatian's child would be unsafe for both mother and child. Though it pained both women, the child had been destroyed.

Abigail had spent the entire night afterwards, telling Neasa how much she didn't want to marry the Roman. She only had eyes for Tristan, but if she were to go against her father's wishes she would have had to live in disgrace. The entire village would disown her, and she would have to depend on the care of Tristan and the knights. She loved Tristan, but she refused to be his burden. So she had chosen to bear a scar just as deep for the sake of all parties. It was most painful when Neasa had found Abigail at her doorstep once again, not five days ago. It seemed that her betrothed had only wanted a woman to make him look respectable while he went around dishonoring as many women as he could. Now Neasa watched the woman, in experience more than age, battle with the demons and loves of her past.

XxXxXxX

Tristan quickly disrobed and slipped into the hot water once Neasa left. He wasn't willing to admit to anyone else, but the heated bath was almost as pleasant a sight as Abigail's return had been. The warm liquid soothed the tense muscles running through Tristan's body, and the scout found himself dozing in the serenity of it.

Neasa returned quite a while later to find the scout lightly dozing while sitting up in the bath. She grumbled to herself about stupid scouts and the dangers of sleeping in a basin of water, but she quietly heated some more water to warm the cooling tub for him. Tristan woke as Neasa poured a new cauldron of water into the bath. He quickly began to rise, realizing that he had been there quite long enough.

"Sit. There is no advantage to rising if your body would benefit more from relaxation. You work yourself too hard, then you expect your body to be in perfect condition when it is needed. You ask too much of yourself, Tristan," Neasa told him as she place a wrinkled hand on his shoulder so that he would sit.

Once the scout was seated again, Neasa went over to the hearth to retrieve some herbs and oils. "You went back for her," Neasa stated as she went through several of her jars and bags.

"No one else would have, if I had not," Tristan stated as he tried to relax once again, but the healer's presence unnerved him.

"You would not have done so for one such as the seamstress or the blacksmith's wife," Neasa challenged wisely.

"For they have husbands or loved ones to do so for them," Tristan replied coldly.

"Do not try to fool yourself because you are the only one who believes your own words. You still care for her deeply, and the only person you are hurting with your stubbornness is yourself. Do not think that Abigail needs you as you do her. The girl may love you with all her heart, but she will marry another if you do not act. Abigail was not made for solitude such as you or myself. She needs to be loved, and if you won't do it then she will be forced to find someone who will," Neasa informed him darkly as she placed several healing herbs in the water as well as a couple oils.

Tristan recoiled from the healing supplies and was about to get out when Neasa spoke for the last time. "Tristan, you have seen nearly fifteen years of war and blood. Do you not think it is time to put away the hatred and death and find something more pleasant to live for? Think about that, scout. I shall bring you fresh clothes when you are ready to depart," Neasa said wisely as she left the room once again.

Tristan sat in the shadows of the bath for many hours as he contemplated the old healer's words. He left the hut several hours before the sun rose, and reported to Arthur for his next assignment. Neasa may have been correct, but Tristan's fifteen years weren't over yet, and he still had work to do.

XxXxXxX

Abigail woke as the sun was reaching its zenith. She was wrapped in a warm blanket and could feel the heat of the still glowing fire. Neasa was sitting beside her bed mixing a salve while she waited for a tea to boil. Abigail slowly sat up trying to remember what had happened the previous day.

"I am glad to see you awake, Abigail. I was beginning to think you liked the company of your dreams better than you enjoy my company," the old woman said with mirth in her voice.

"You know I value your company above all others, Neasa," Abigail retorted. "Did Tristan bring me back," she asked as though she couldn't tell if it was a memory she recalled or a dream.

"So you do remember. That is good, I thought you might have hit your head, but if you remember what happened then you shall be fine," Neasa said as she rose to examine her charge. "Your wrist is broken, but I think it will heal quickly if you do not overexert yourself."

"Broken? But I must work. Vanora will scream if I Am un-fit to help her at the tavern," Abigail worried as she tested her wrist with a cringe.

"Vanora visited me this morning looking for you, and she said that your health is what is most important. Now, let us get you out of bed. I have some new herbs I would like you to sort through," Neasa assured the younger woman as she aided her to stand.

Several hours later, Abigail sat with Vanora in the kitchen of the tavern sorting herbs while Vanora cooked what would become supper. "Is Arthur angry with me Van," Abigail asked as she braided several herbs together to hang and dry. It was a tedious process considering her wrist was barely useable.

"You know Arthur cannot stay angry at you for more than five minutes," Vanora laughed before saying, "And even if he was, Tristan wouldn't let him do anything about it."

"Would Tristan really interfere like that," Abigail asked with a hint of displeasure that Vanora didn't catch.

"Of course he would darling. He loves you," Vanora said as though those simple words explained everything.

"He has an odd way of showing it," Abigail said as she recalled her conversations with the scout the previous day. "Anyway, I don't want him interfering with my affairs. If he can't bear to speak to me, then he should not speak on my behalf," Abigail ground out.

"Honey, Tristan barely speaks to anyone. You cannot fault the man for his silence. I didn't even know he could speak Latin for the first three years of his service. Tristan lets his actions speak for him. He went back for you last night, did he not? He still cares deeply for you," Vanora explained pityingly because Abigail didn't deserve to be put through this. Vanora remembered the bright spirited girl that had once loved Tristan, but now all she could see was a woman older than her years whose heart was fading from misuse.

"Tristan never had trouble speaking to me, even when we first met. I was nothing but and obnoxiously silly girl, but he spoke to me like his equal. Now he tells me that I am too young and naïve for him. Perhaps he does still care for me, but I will not be cowed by him simply because he is too stubborn to admit his feelings. Galahad is not so bad once you block out his childishness. Perhaps he could make me happy," Abigail said on the brink of tears.

"Abby you can't do this to yourself. You won't be happy if you marry a man just to spite Tristan. Trust me; everything will come around in time. You must be patient with Tristan, he will realize his fault," Vanora said in a motherly fashion as she embraced the younger woman. Vanora wished that she could just make Tristan stop his stubbornness, but she knew that the scout had to come to terms with his own troubles before he could love again. "Now, let's get you fed so you can go back to helping Neasa in the healing arts," Vanora said lightly as she placed a bowl of stew before her friend.

"You always know what to say don't you Van," Abigail replied as she took a bit of the stew. "I just miss the way things were," Abigail said nostalgically between bites.

"I do too sweetie, I do too," Vanora whispered as she remembered when she had first met Abigail. Vanora missed the smile that Tristan had only for Abigail. That smile had died when Abigail left, but Vanora prayed that she would see it return before it was too late.

XxXxX

Sorry that it took so long to update, life has been hectic and exhausting so I have been napping instead of writing. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you to everyone who reviewed the last one. Your thoughts and comments are always greatly appreciated. So please tell me what you think of this, it is very helpful.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own it.**

Injury

Abigail found herself visiting the healing wing far more often than she would have liked because Neasa made her run errands while her wrist healed. This was the fifth batch of herbs Abigail had had to carry to the fort's healer, in as many days. It seemed that every time that Abigail entered the dreary wing, she could not help but run into one of the knights. Abigail loved the knights as she would her own brothers, but it had been Tristan who had introduced her to them. After her experience during the storm, Abigail had not spoken to the scout. She had even vowed not to think of him even, though that promise was nigh impossible to keep.

Luckily for Abigail, Tristan had been out scouting for most of the past week. Though Abigail found herself upon the wall every evening staring at the horizon, she still felt less uncomfortable when Tristan was not within the gates. It was unfair either way because if he wasn't around she couldn't help but worry about him, and if he was around she was constantly frustrated by him. Abigail was beginning to wonder what she had seen in the thick headed scout, in the first place. More so, she couldn't understand what had possessed her to return to the fort. Her honor was forever tarnished here because she had left betrothed and returned unwanted. She had no family here since her father considered her dead to him since she left her betrothed. She had never had many friends inside these walls other than Vanora and a select few others. But as soon as things turned sour, she had come running back anyway.

No matter how much Abigail tried to deny it to everyone else, she could not lie to herself or Vanora, for that matter. She had come back for Tristan. He was the only reason that she had had the courage to pack her bags when Antonius had ended the engagement. Tristan was the only reason that she had not taken her own life after she had found herself completely alone in the world. He was the reason that she did most things in her life. As much as Abigail hated to admit it, she still loved the scout with every fiber of her being. His dismissal of her had wounded her pride far more than the fact that her betrothed had thrown her away for a local whore. No, Abigail did not care what any man thought of her other than Tristan.

Everyone had just thought that she was looking for attention when she had begun her friendship with the scout. Attention was what she received, but it was not what she had wanted. Her spitfire temper and complete disregard for any other man's opinion of her had been a sore topic around the fort. Everyone would whisper that Tristan was using the poor girl and she feared his jealous temper. However, in reality Tristan had never been jealous of Abigail and other men because Abigail had come to him. He had no claim over her, and he would kill himself before forcing her to do anything that she did not wish to do. Abigail did not care for others opinions simply because she had only ever loved Tristan. What use was there in the opinions of those who simply looked at her as an object? Tristan was the only one who saw her as a person, an equal, and he was the only one whose opinion would ever matter.

Now, Abigail felt lower than the moss beneath the stones of Hadrian's Wall since Tristan seemed to be unpleased with her presence. She could understand it if he had found someone else to fill his bed, but from what Vanora let on, he had been nothing short of celibate in her absence. Had she been so naïve as to believe that he had enjoyed her intimate company when in fact she had turned him off from the deed completely? No, Abigail shook her head. That could not be the truth; he was a man after all. But Abigail couldn't understand why he had thrown her age in her face. She was young but that had never meant anything in the past. How dare he confuse her as he did? She had left him, but she had had no other choice. If he chose to continue to act as though she meant nothing to him, then she would simply return the favor.

Abigail had thoroughly worked herself into quite a temper as she stormed down the halls of the healing wing. The sooner that she found Wade, one of the fort's healers, the sooner she could go back to Neasa and cry into the folds of the older woman's skirts. Abigail was not above showing her sorrow and desperation to elderly woman because Neasa never judged her, and the woman had a way of knowing exactly what Abigail felt before ever being told. If Wade was not here, she would simply leave the herbs on his mixing table and leave.

After another few minutes of searching, Abigail decided that it was a useless search. Wade had probably been sent to attend one of the sick villagers who was too old to be moved from his or her home. Abigail didn't care that the young healer was nowhere to be found. In reality, it was quite a relief. Wade had a way of making Abigail feel unbearably useless. It was obvious that he liked her from the way he nearly worshiped the ground she walked on. However, Wade didn't believe that women were of any use unless they were producing children or cooking. Abigail had other ideas, but she did not wish to alienate one of the few men that she could call friend. Whenever she was in the healing rooms with him, he insisted that she stay far away from any patients for what reason she was unsure. After all, Abigail was becoming quite the healer herself. With Neasa's help, Abigail was able to tend many sorts of injuries as well as determine types of illnesses and treatments.

Abigail wasn't really paying close attention to the world around her as she stepped into the main chamber of the healing wing. It had several cots but was mostly used for mixing herbs, salves, and teas for patients. Usually it was only used for tending small wounds or broken bones, but patients never spent the night in this room. For that reason, it was always eerily calm, and Abigail never enjoyed being there.

The room was dark, and Abigail felt no need to light a candle. She knew the layout of the floor enough to slip into the dark room and place the sack of herbs on the bench and slip out without incident. However, just as Abigail was placing the small bundle on the bench, she heard a shuffling noise in the corner of the room. Abigail nearly hit the ceiling, she had jumped so high. She nearly tripped over the small stool beside the table as she rushed out of the room. Within seconds, she had returned with several candles lit by a torch hanging in the hall.

No sooner did Abigail cross the threshold than she saw the slumped shoulders of a cloaked figure. In the corner sat a man that Abigail would have known if only his little finger was visible. "What are you doing in here? Wade does not let anyone stay here while he is out," Abigail spoke with a distinct edge to her voice as she approached the huddled scout. When she received no reply, she was only further incensed by his ignoring of her words. "I asked you a question, scout," she prodded as she reached the cot only to face his back. Tristan shuffled away from her a bit, only to reach the head of the bed having no where else to go.

"I am waiting for Wade," the hunched scout replied but his voice was as rough as a bed of shattered glass, cracking and scraping as he spoke.

"Do I disgust you so much that you cannot even bear to look upon my face when you speak to me," Abigail asked angrily as she noted how Tristan did not even turn to acknowledge her presence. Abigail was furious that her small errand had resulted in the one thing she had dreaded all week, a confrontation with the scout himself. "I know that I mean nothing to you anymore, but is it so hard to at least be civil to me? What have I done to warrant your disgust? Do not bother to turn around, I do not need to hear your lies only to see your eyes telling a different story," Abigail spat angrily as she turned to leave. Her anger completely blinding her to the fact that Tristan would not be caught dead in the healing rooms if it were not for a good reason.

"You have it all wrong, Abby," Tristan said in barely a whisper.

"Oh really," Abigail said sarcastically but paused none the less because her heart fluttered unwillingly as he called her Abby.

"It was _you_ that I did not wish to disgust by showing you _my_ face," Tristan spoke the words with the slightest hint of shame.

"What is that supposed to mean," Abby asked in confusion as she tentatively approached the cot again. She watched as Tristan slowly turned to face her with his eyes determinedly staring at the floor. Abigail gasped in shock at the mess that was Tristan's face. Tristan looked into her eyes when he heard her gasp knowing that he would see sympathy, which he didn't want. However, all Tristan could see in Abigail's eyes, as she gazed at him, was worry. "How did this happen," she asked as she quickly rushed over to the healer's bench to retrieve a basin of clean water and bandages.

"Ambush," was all that Tristan said as he hung his head again in shame at his failure to notice the threat before it was too late. Abigail tsk-tsked as she rounded the end of the cot to sit in front of the beaten scout.

"Were you just going to sit here all night until Wade returned," she asked as she took a cloth and submerged it in the clear water. She wasn't surprised when she received no reply. Abigail simply grumbled to herself as she wrung out the wet cloth and looked up at the scout's battered face. His nose was obviously broken from the odd angle that it pointed as well as the dark bruises around his eyes. Had it been any other occasion, Abigail would have thought that the black circles around his eyes made him look rather boyish and cute. However, the circumstances prevented her from paying any mind to that thought. Other than the nose, Tristan had several cuts and bruises on his cheeks and forehead. Slowly she rose to her knees and reached up to begin the task of washing the blood from the scout's face. After rinsing the cloth only twice, the water in the basin was a sickening red color. Abigail paid it no mind as she slowly reached up again to run the cloth gently over Tristan's right temple where a particularly nasty cut rested.

"I swear you do this on purpose," Abigail mumbled as she dropped the cloth in the basin for the time being.

"Do what," Tristan asked confusedly as Abigail fetched a small needle and began heating it over the candle flame.

"Whenever I decide that I am through with you and never want to speak to you again, you go and get yourself injured. You know I can't bear to see you suffer, even if I do hate you," Abigail said with a hint of a smile as she removed the needle from the flame. Quickly, she rushed over to retrieve the stool so that she could work at his level. When she returned, she found Tristan staring at her through heavily lidded eyes. "Don't give me that look, Sir Tristan. I will not forgive you so easily, but I will not see you suffer either," she said as she raised the needle to his skin.

Tristan knew that Abigail was one of the gentlest and steadiest hands that could work on an injury, but that didn't stop his head from hurting like hell by the time she finished. As she put the needle down and looked at her work, Tristan noticed the bandages still over her wrist. "You arm," he said by way of a question.

"…Is thankfully the only thing wrong with me. I never got the chance to thank you for coming back for me. If you hadn't, I don't know if anyone would have come for me," she said as she lowered her eyes in her own abyss of shame. "Thank you."

"I was duty bound to go after you. After all, you had stolen a knight's stallion," Tristan tried to ignore her gratitude in hopes that she would not forgive him so easily. He could not deny that he loved her, but he refused to believe that he was good enough for the spunky Briton. "I just hope that it is healing properly," he added as he reached out to touch her bandaged wrist lightly with his gentle fingers.

"Healing fine, I assure you. I'll be well enough to be stealing horses again, very shortly," she snapped as she pulled her wrist from his grasp angrily. "Why do I even kid myself into thinking that maybe you returned because you cared or… or… I give up! Fix your own wounds, I cannot deal with you right now," Abigail cried as she threw a roll of bandages at him and stormed toward the door. Abigail would have left too, if she had not heard a sharp gasp from the cot then a distinct thud. Turning abruptly, Abigail saw Tristan on his knees gasping for air. He had obviously tried to follow her.

"Stupid scout," she admonished as she rushed over to his side to help him back onto the cot. "Why didn't you say that you had broken ribs as well? Now I have to treat them as well," she sighed in frustration as she helped him lean back against the wall as he lay on the cot. "Lift your arms," she told him as she pulled up his tunic.

"I'm fine, their just a bit bruised," Tristan insisted but lifted his arms anyway, knowing that it was futile to argue with Abigail.

"Of course their just bruised," she nearly yelled as she gazed at Tristan's battered torso. His ribcage was nearly black or purple due to the number and size of the bruises across it. Abigail would have gasped, but she was too incensed at his stupidity to react to the mess he made of himself. "I can't believe you," was all she said as she began feeling his ribs to see the extent of the damage. She could feel Tristan shuddered under her fingertips, but was unsure if it was due to pain or pleasure. Knowing the scout as she did, it wouldn't have surprised her if it was a combination of the two. "Miraculously only one is cracked. However, I would say that about six or so are badly bruised," Abigail diagnosed him as she finished running her fingers across him ribs in a technique that he had actually taught her many months ago.

"I was careless," he admitted as Abigail began to wrap bandages around his midsection. "I was distracted, and it nearly cost me my life," Tristan growled as she pulled the bandages securely. "If I hadn't been thinking of you, I wouldn't have missed the warnings of their attack," he ground out as she abruptly pulled the cloths tighter than she meant to.

"You're blaming me for this," she asked in disbelief as her bright eyes met those of the scout. Abigail nearly finished the job for the Woads at that moment, but reined her anger as quickly as it had come. She could see the sincerity in Tristan's eyes, and she sent a silent prayer to the gods to smite her right there because she had no reason to continue living.

"I am sorry that you feel that my presence is such a distraction," she replied emotionally as she swiped at a tear that threatened to escape her eye. She finished wrapping his ribs as quickly as possible before standing and moving toward the door. "If my presence is so unwanted, I will leave in the morning. You do not have to worry for me ever again, Sir Tristan because you will never need to gaze upon my dreary face ever again after tonight," Abigail spoke through the tears that fell unhindered down her porcelain cheeks. It tore Tristan's heart to see her heart breaking right in front of him, but he knew that this was for the best. If she left this fort, she could start over somewhere else. She would have her honor back, and he would not feel guilty for being unable to give her the life she deserved. It was for her own good he kept telling himself.

"Just tell me one thing before I leave, Tristan," Abigail said with a slight plead tugging at her already weak voice. "Was I truly that bad a fuck that you can't even bear my presence anymore," she spat, but instead of waiting for an answer she stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her. The last thing Tristan saw of her was her long auburn hair as the door blocked her out of his life forever.

"No… it was because you were the best I ever had, that I can't bear to drag you down with me," the defeated scout replied to the vacant air. With a solemn sigh, Tristan lay back on the cot and willed sleep to take him away from his pathetic existence for even a moment.

Abigail could barely see where she was going as she ran through the fort. She wanted to go home and curl up and bawl her eyes out, but she frankly didn't care at this point. She would cry right here in the middle of the fort for all she cared. She barely noticed as she ran headlong into a firm body and fell to the ground. She let out a soft whimper as the impact wrenched her broken wrist, but gave no other hint of the pain surging through her arm. She didn't look up as the startled Roman soldier lifted her into his arms realizing that she was one of the redheaded wench's friends. She didn't protest when he began to carry her in a different direction.

Darius was nearly attacked when he carried the sobbing girl into the tavern. Before he even made it to the edge of the outdoor tavern, several of the knights were headed in their direction. He swallowed hard at their deadly expressions, but steeled himself for the interrogation. "Before you attack me, know that I had nothing to do with the fact that she is a sobbing mess," Darius explained as he held Abigail out to Dagonet who was the first to reach him. "She ran straight into me as I was head toward my watch, she was sobbing before she hit me," he continued when no fists came flying in his direction.

"Abby," Vanora cried as she rushed toward the group. "Poor child, what happened to you," she mumbled more to herself than the unresponsive girl. Vanora quickly ushered Dagonet toward the kitchens where she could tend to her friend in private.

"Is she going to be alright," Darius found himself asking as he watched the redhead and the large knight rush the girl away.

"I'm sure that Vanora will have her right as rain by the end of the night, but if I find out that you had anything to do…" Bors was cut off by the young soldier's voice.

"You will do unspeakable things to me. Trust me, I know. I had a younger sister once, I know how to be protective," Darius said as he turned to get to his position before he faced punishment for being late. "If it isn't too much to ask, I would like to know that she is well," he said before leaving.

"Arthur will let you know," Lancelot sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. He had not idea what had happened to Abigail, but he had a feeling it had to do with the mysterious return of the scout that afternoon. Unlike Bors, Lancelot had no doubt that Darius was innocent. He had been on guard duty with the young soldier enough times to know that the boy was incapable of harming a kitten never mind a young woman like Abigail. He was one of few Romans with any morals at the fort.

Lancelot just sighed again as he returned to their table, where Galahad was passed out drunk. For once, he was happy that the youngest had drunk himself into a stupor because Galahad would have killed Darius even before he reached the tavern if he had been awake. Lancelot smirked as he thought that though Abigail never noticed it, men constantly sought after her. She was just oblivious to their attentions because none of them were silent, brooding, and dangerous like a certain scout they all knew and loved.

XxXxX

Please don't hurt me, I didn't forget about this story. I realize it has been a month since I last updated, but I was trying to finish my other story and a ton of summer work so this got put on hold for a while. However, now it is back and will hopefully be updated regularly once again. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please tell me what you thought of it. Thank you to those of you who reviewed because you are the reason that this story is being continued.


	7. Moving On

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

Moving On

As Bors had promised, Abigail was seemingly fine by the time most of the knights had found their beds. Dagonet had checked her injured wrist and said that no further damage had been done. It had simply been jostled unpleasantly. Abigail had been far too emotional at that point to care whether her wrist was fine or if it needed to be amputated. What difference did it make if she felt as though she were dying anyway? However, Vanora, in her infinite wisdom, knew what the problem was. Once Dagonet rewrapped the injured wrist and took his leave, Vanora turned to her suffering friend.

"Just let it out Abby," Vanora whispered as she held Abigail's head in her lap as she ran her fingers through the younger woman's hair. "Crying about it is not going to solve anything, but let it out anyway" Vanora spoke in a motherly tone as she signaled for her young daughter to go to bed and stay out of the kitchens.

"Why did I come back Vanora," Abigail asked through her weak sobs. She turned her head away from Vanora's skirts in order to look up into the older woman's kind eyes. Vanora nearly gasped at fragile look in the young woman's eyes. Their glassy brown looked as though it could shatter at the slightest touch.

"Honey, you came back because you love him. He is your heart. Darling, you care about him, but part of caring about him is being able to let him go. If you truly do love him the way I know you do, you have to be willing to let him find his own path. You can't force him recognize his feelings for you; you have to let him find them for himself. Certain things can't be rushed, honey. Tristan loves you and he knows it, but he has to realize that he is the best, the only, man for you. It may take some time, but he will realize it. And when he does, you shall never be free of his possessive nature. Trust me, Bors was insecure for the longest time but once I had One, he wouldn't let me out of his sight for over a month. You'll get sick of him pretty fast, love. Now cheer up and enjoy your freedom while you have it. How about the darling lad that carried you in here," Vanora smiled kindly as she pushed Abigail's hair away from her tearstained face.

"Who carried me in here," Abigail asked in confusion. She couldn't for the life of her remember who it was that had carried her to the tavern after her fall. It was a bit unnerving to the young woman that she had simply let a stranger do with her as he saw fit.

"The young Roman soldier with the pretty green eyes," Vanora prompted but saw no recognition in Abigail's features. "Darius, I think his name was. Handsome fellow, he is. I can't believe you haven't seen him beat Lancelot at dice before," Vanora said with a warm smile. She was just happy to get Abigail's mind off her troubles for a moment.

"He is new here too, he was part of the escort that I came here with. Oh god, h-he must think I am a complete harlot. He has to know about why I left Fort Maia. How could I face him if he knows my past? It would be terribly embarrassing," Abigail worried her bottom lip as she thought of what he must think of her.

"Abigail, Tristan knows your past and you are not embarrassed to speak to him. You are not embarrassed by the other knights. It is not your fault that you were thrown into a marriage agreement with a man you could never find love for. It is the fault of those who forced it upon you. You had love, but now you have to work to get it back," Vanora spoke sagely as she wiped a few stray tears from Abigail's cheek.

"How do you do it Van," Abigail asked with an exhausted sigh as she began to sit up. Her hair hung in her face in thick tangled strands, but she didn't look as though she cared at all. She looked wild with her determined eyes and tight jaw.

"Trust me; I've had it pretty easy. As thick headed as Bors can be, he is a passionate man. He can't hide his feelings for long. When he shows them, it makes all our troubles seem to fade away," Vanora said wistfully.

"Sometimes I think that Tristan could hide his forever," Abigail said with a sad smile as a few final tears found their way down her rosy cheeks.

"He can't, love. No one can. He's just better at holding them off than the rest of us, but trust me, when he cracks, he'll be insatiable. You'll be rivaling me with a brood of your own," Vanora laughed as she wiggled her eyebrows.

"Vanora!"

"What? Everyone doesn't call him feral for nothing, but you already know that," Vanora said innocently but she was anything but.

"It wasn't like that. Most of the time we just talked or enjoyed each other's company," Abigail said with a nostalgic look glazing her brown eyes.

"There is nothing wrong with getting to know the man before you do anything you might regret," Vanora said thoughtfully.

"Lot of good that did me," Abigail said as she began to straighten her clothes.

"That's not the attitude, Abby. You have to go out there and act as though you own the place. You have to show him that you aren't a child anymore. You can take care of yourself and don't need him. When he realizes that you could have your pick of any man in this fort but you want him, he'll change his song right fast," Vanora said as she stood helping Abigail gather herself.

"You're right. This fort was my home first. I won't leave just because he is upset with me. He's going to have to get used to the fact that I'm just as independent as he is," Abigail said with a bit of determination.

"Let's hope that you're a little more independent than he is, otherwise you'll be taking orders from Arthur too," Vanora giggled as she embraced her friend. Abigail joined in her laughter before offering to help clean up for the night. "No, you go home darling and relax. Tomorrow you have to show off the brand new you," Vanora encouraged Abigail as she led her to the exit of the kitchens. Abigail smiled and thanked Vanora before hurrying out into the night, toward home. Though her mood had been lightened considerably, it did not stop Abigail from feeling as though she had been stabbed in the heart.

Neasa watched as Abigail snuck into the small hut. Sitting beside the fire, the healer could feel the heart ache all the way from the door. She also felt determination, but it was still covered in layers of despair. Neasa knew that Abigail was a strong young woman, but that didn't stop the elderly healer from feeling regret as to allowing her to return. She had known long before Abigail's arrival that the girl would suffer for her love, but Neasa still believed that it would all be worth it in the end. A soul, after all, only had one mate, and Tristan's was the only one that could completely satisfy Abigail.

Many thoughts rolled through the healer's mind as Abigail snuck off to her room, but she said nothing to the hurting girl. Words could not heal the wounds embedded in one's heart. Sometimes it was best to let the soul soothe itself.

XxXxXxX

Dawn came too early for the injured scout. He could feel his body protesting consciousness, but he had made a decision before he had passed out only hours before. After hours of tormenting thoughts, Tristan decided that he needed to apologize before Abigail could leave. He would smooth things over with her so that she could go on and find someone who could truly care for her.

Slowly, Tristan rose from the heap he had slept in on the cot. His entire body was sore as he sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. He couldn't believe he had survived the ambush. There had been so many of them just pouring out of the forest, but some greater force had smiled down upon Tristan that day because he had escaped what should have been certain death. Tristan knew that the only reason he had escaped was because he refused to die without making sure that Abigail was going to be taken care of. Now, he was the reason she was upset and threatening to run away.

Tristan sighed as he pulled on his bloody tunic before finding his weapons and exiting the healing chambers. The sun was barely reaching the horizon, and Tristan hoped to get to the stables before Abigail. Arthur would send a wagon with her as well as guards if she pleased, but he wished to see her before such necessities arrived. He hoped to end things calmly so she could go find herself the love she deserved.

The stables were musty and humid as usual. Even in the dead of a crisp winter it seemed as though the stables were unbearably dank. Tristan simply slipped through the still shadowy spaces of the stable as he went to see his horse. He hadn't wished to leave the exhausted beast the previous night; however, he himself had been far too injured to see to its needs. Instead, Tristan found Jols sleeping against the outer wall of his charger's stall. Tristan smiled as he noticed the dark shadow of a bruise on Jols' upper arm. Obviously his horse was not as exhausted as he had thought.

Slowly, Tristan knelt beside the loyal squire. Gently, he placed a bandaged hand upon Jols' slumped shoulder, and immediately the squire sprung to life. "Tristan, I did not expect to see you here today," Jols exclaimed in a shocked whisper.

Tristan simply shrugged his shoulders at Jols, but regretted the action immediately because it stretched his sore muscles. "You were not fast enough," Tristan noted as he pointed to the bruise upon Jols' arm.

"He is a strong warrior even when injured," Jols commented as he rubbed his arm thoughtfully. "Just like his master."

"Thank you," Tristan bowed his head slowly so as not to aggravate any other injuries he had forgotten about.

"I shall leave you to tend him since you are the only one he does not attack," Jols said as he stood and returned to his duties. Tristan watched the squire slowly walk toward the back of the stables where food and other necessities were kept for the animals. Jols had one of the hardest duties in the fort, but he never complained. He was a good man, or else Tristan would have never trusted his charger in the other man's care.

Tristan stepped into the stall and rummaged through a saddle bag in search of something to eat. For his effort, Tristan was rewarded by finding an apple. It was rather bruised, but Tristan would not complain. Slowly he carved himself what he wanted before tossing what remained to his mount. The grey stallion quickly devoured the rest of the delicious fruit before venturing over to Tristan to find some more.

"Sorry my friend, but that is all I have," Tristan whispered gently. His horse, which had several cuts along its flank, gently nipped at his owner's hair. Tristan laughed lightly as the beast tried to eat the tangled mess of braids. "That is not edible," he said as he good naturedly pushed the horse's nose away. The stallion retaliated by tugging Tristan's longest braid with its teeth. "Hey, what's got you all worked up today," Tristan whispered as he rubbed the tender spot on his head from the attack. The fierce stallion flicked back his dappled ears and snorted. Tristan groaned as he leaned back against the side of the stall. "Don't you start too. She is better off without me," he sighed dejectedly.

Tristan knew that he wasn't fooling anyone. They all knew that he still harbored deep feelings for the vivacious Briton. Anyone who had known them before her father had sold her off to the first Roman he could find, knew that they were meant for each other. She was the only one who could make him show emotion around others.

_She had walked into the tavern well after sunset one night, in hopes of finding him. Tristan had returned just as the sun was setting. He had ridden straight past her, so she knew that he had important news for Arthur. She had continued with her work in the fields instead of rushing to find him. He would find her when he was finished with his own duties. Quickly, Abigail had made her way over to Vanora who was cleaning off a cluttered table. She had not seen an exhausted Tristan slip in behind her, nor did she notice the drunken patron following her._

_Before Abigail even reached Vanora she was lifted by the waist by a strong pair of hands and spun to face her attacker. Before Abigail could react, she felt firm lips pressed against her own as she was hugged tightly against her assailant. Without having to think Abigail's body responded as her lips parted to welcome the familiar kiss. The man who had been following her quickly turned on his heel when he saw the fierce scout embracing her passionately._

_Abigail didn't need to open her eyes to know whose lips were passionately caressing her own. She had memorized every taste and touch that was her Tristan. She was shocked by his public display, but she hand known from the moment his arms wrapped around her that it was him. Tristan finally broke the heated kiss and pulled back to look into her warm eyes. He pulled a stray strand of auburn hair out of her face before kissing her forehead gently._

"_It is nice to see that you still have time for me," Abigail joked as she tugged one of his braids. He never showed this side of himself in public and she was going to enjoy it. _

"_I had an important message for Arthur," Tristan apologized as he guided her toward the corner where he usually sat._

"_Excuses, excuses," Abigail chastised with mock sincerity. "What could be more important than the woman you love," she asked sweetly as she gazed up into his amber eyes._

"_Nothing is more important than you, but I have duties just as you do," he said as he kissed her once more before taking their seats._

_All of the other knights had been watching the passionate moment between the two. All were shocked by Tristan's forwardness in public. Never before had they seen their brother show true emotion, never mind passion. Even Lancelot had found himself shocked into silence. In the months that the pair had been enjoying each other's company, the knights had joked and given Abigail their sympathies for being attached to a stone instead of a man. Now, however, they were beginning to see that she brought out the life that lay beneath the surface of the stoic scout. _

"_You never do that," Abigail whispered in a bit of shock, herself._

"_Is it wrong that I want all to know that you are mine, as I am yours? No other man shall love you as I, so they need not try," Tristan whispered into her ear as his fingers wound into thick hair. Abigail smiled gently as she simply leaned into his embrace and enjoyed the rarity of this night together._

Tristan hadn't noticed that he had dozed off until he heard Jols come back with fresh supplies for his steed. Tristan got to his feet as quickly as his weak body allowed before signaling over to Jols. "Jols has Abigail left yet," Tristan asked as he leaned against his horse in order not to fall over from exhaustion and pain.

"She hasn't come through here, perhaps she has chosen to use her feet for once. She is injured after all," Jols answered, referring to her daily rides instead of her permanent departure, as he poured some feed into a trough for the horse. Tristan felt light headed as he thought on Jols' words. She hadn't been through here. Perhaps, she left in the night without telling anyone. Perhaps she was out there all alone, and easy target for any predator. She was injured and upset, and it would be his fault if she was hurt or worse… Tristan couldn't finish the thought.

Before Jols could talk him out of it, Tristan had his horse saddled and was mounted rather uncomfortably. Though he was in no condition to sit on a horse, never mind ride one, he was determined to go find her. She could be out there without a hope in the world, and he wouldn't let her down again. With a light heel to his mount's flank, Tristan was a blur like a whisper on the wind.

XxXxX

Sorry this took a week to post, but I just started school again and I am trying to balance everything. I hope you liked this chapter, and I promise you won't have to wait too long for the net. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, you are what inspire me to continue writing. Please tell me what you thought of this chapter, I always enjoy hearing what you have to say whether it is good or bad.


	8. Never Another

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Eight: Never Another

Abigail had been in the tavern for the better part of the day. After she had returned to Neasa's hut the night before, she had cried herself to sleep, for no other reason than to finally purge herself of the selfish scout. He had even followed her into her dreams that night.

_Abigail remembered it as if it had happened only yesterday. She and Tristan had shared each other's company for several months and had become the deepest of friends. She remembered the way he had showed his affection to her in the middle of the tavern not three nights prior. Abigail was certain that Tristan was the only man she would ever love. They sat, now, on a low hanging branch of a mighty tree just outside the Wall. The late afternoon sun illuminated the golden leaves and cast a warm glow over all that it embraced. They had been sitting in the tree reading a volume that Arthur had lent his scout for several hours, periodically taking breaks to steal sweet kisses from one another. The volume of Greek tragedies was easily forgotten by the enamored pair because Abigail could not read, and Tristan was only proficient enough to collect the basic idea of each passage and relay it to her._

_So, instead they sat talking and showing their affection for each other. Tristan was rarely in such a lighthearted mood, and Abigail found that she was thoroughly enjoying it. "Tristan, you can't stop there. I must know how it ends, do they find each other? does love prevail? I must know," Abigail giggled as she halfheartedly swatted away Tristan's roaming hands._

"_Abby, they are call tragedies for a reason. It is best to stop while they are still cheerful in nature," Tristan remarked before he captured her lips in a soft kiss, effectively silencing any further questioning. Abigail sighed contentedly as Tristan pulled her closer as he leaned against the trunk of the tree straddling the low branch. Abigail sat happily wrapped in his arms as the enjoyed each others company. _

"_Tristan…why do you waste so much time with me? I know what the others say about how you are just humoring my childish fantasies," Abigail said embarrassedly as they watched the sun begin to set._

"_The time I spend with you is never a waste. These are the happiest moments of my sordid existence; how could they be a waste," Tristan asked sternly before continuing. "Do not listen to anything anyone says about us. They simply do not understand what we have, certainly you know that. What has really brought this on," Tristan asked as he positioned her so that he could look into her eyes._

"_I am just a plain girl with little to offer other than myself. I have no great beauty or skill. Why would you want me and all the troubles that come with me instead of one of the wenches who are beautiful and skilled and cause little trouble," Abigail admitted shyly as tears began to stream down her soft cheeks._

_Tristan nearly screamed in frustration at the one who made her feel inadequate, but quickly calmed for her. "Abigail," he said as he lifted her chin to look at him as he kissed away her tears. "You are the most beautiful woman to ever walk this earth. You are skilled in more ways than I can count, from your gentle touch to you quick wit. And finally, you are no trouble at all and never will be because you the woman I love. No whore could satisfy me the way your company does. No wench could ever calm me the way your touch does. No other presence could make my heart do this," he said as he placed her small hand to his chest, "the way your presence does. I swear to you Abigail; I shall never take another whore for the rest of my days because no other woman could ever replace you. Now cease your tears, my love. We have read enough tragedies for one day, no need to act them out as well," Tristan said as he brought his lips to hers in a searing kiss that simply enforced everything he had told her. _

_Slowly, Tristan slipped out of the tree with Abigail cradled in his arms and carried her back to the fort. He did not carry her home as he did most evenings, but instead he carried her to his own quarters to show her how much he truly loved her for the first time._

When she woke in the morning to Neasa's wise voice singing in the morning light, Abigail had begun to feel human again. Though her eyes were puffy and red from crying herself to sleep, Abigail quickly dressed and went out to face a new day. She remembered her dream, but she knew that there was little she could do about it now. Perhaps she was the only love Tristan would ever have, but that did not mean he could not choose a loveless life.

It was several hours past dawn as Abigail finally left Neasa carrying another parcel for the elderly healer. She would simply leave the parcel at the entrance of the healing wing then go off to find Vanora. Her wrist was feeling marginally better this morning and Abigail was hoping to be able to perhaps aid at the tavern for at least a few hours. Vanora would hopefully allow her to do some of the cooking or cleaning if not actually carrying trays or mugs. Abigail was excited to start over again, and though Tristan was never far from her thoughts, she found that it was no long hard to see him as simply an unpleasant memory, or so she told herself.

As Abigail passed the stables she noticed Jols walking toward her quickly. His pocked face was set in a worried frown, and Abigail wondered what could be so dire that the normally jovial squire was so upset. "Jols, is everything well," she called as he approached her swiftly.

"Milady, where have you been all morning," Jols asked with a worried tone. His soft hazel eyes were filled with concern that only furthered Abigail's confusion.

"I have been at Neasa's enjoying the wonders of a fitful night's sleep. Why is it that my sleep habits are so important, Jols. Is something wrong," Abigail asked in utter confusion as she noticed Jols' demeanor only decline.

"Nothing is wrong, milady. Just was worried when I didn't see you this morning, after all the commotion I heard last night," Jols covered up his true worry, knowing that Tristan would skin him alive if Abigail knew Tristan had gone looking for her. Hell, Abigail would probably skin him alive for allowing Tristan to ride in such poor condition. It was best to keep one's mouth firmly shut when dealing with that pair, unless one had a death wish.

"Oh I am fine, Jols. Thank you for your concern, but I am feeling entirely better today. I find it is best not to dwell on the past any longer," she said with a bright smile, almost comparable to the ones she had graced the world with when she was still loved by Tristan.

"That is good to know, milady. I wish you a good day," Jols returned her smile, but he was devastated, not for himself but for her. She had finally given up the one thing she had always cherished. It was a dark day indeed, even if she could no longer see the clouds they would find her soon enough. Losing love after feeling the fruits of it was most painful indeed.

XxXxXxX

Tristan had ridden all day and only returned as the fiery sun made its daily retreat from the sky. Clouds had moved in once again and a light rain had begun to mist the already damp island. Tristan's injuries were causing him no little amount of pain, and his inability to locate Abigail was causing his already broken heart to blacken even more. Tristan had become accustomed to pain over the years. All of the knights had gathered their own impressive collections of scars, but Tristan had never felt such intense pain as that which Abigail caused him daily.

As Tristan rode his stallion into the stables, Jols came running toward him. "Master Tristan, I have found Abby. She was simply sleeping in this morning," he said as he reached the exhausted scout.

Never before had two emotions warred so furiously in Tristan's heart as they did at that moment. Tristan felt relieved that Abigail was safe, but he was also enraged that she had lied and decided to stay at the fort. Quickly, Tristan's anger got the better of him and he slid off his mount only to stumble into Jols' strong arms. "Easy sir, you're still very weak," Jols said as he righted Tristan and allowed the injured scout to stand on his own.

"Where is she, Jols," Tristan asked between clenched teeth as he began to hobble toward the entrance of the barn.

"She was spending the day with Vanora, I believe," Jols answered even though he knew it would have probably been better to lie to his friend.

"Thank you, Jols," Tristan said as he hobbled out of the stable and in the direction of the tavern. He was going to show Abigail once and for all that it was in her best interest to leave this place and find a new home where she could find love and peace. However, all thoughts left his mind when he entered into the courtyard of the tavern. Tristan may have been blinded by pain, but he knew his eyes would never play such a cruel trick on him as they were doing now.

In the center of the courtyard was Abigail with her long auburn hair waving around her as she danced. A Roman soldier held her close as he spun her around. Both were laughing and enjoying themselves as Vanora sang for them. Tristan stopped dead in his tracks and watched the smile that, until this night, he had believed he was the only person who could bring that smile forth from her lips. She hadn't left because she had taken his advice and moved on. So quickly she was able to cast off her feelings for him and bestow them upon one who was so like the man who had ruined their happiness.

Tristan forgot his fury in that moment and in its place was a void of emotion. Tristan had finally become the heartless killer that the villagers always whispered about. He would do nothing to prevent Abigail's future happiness, but he would nether do anything to promote his own. Tristan knew at that moment that though he had only a meager few months of service left, he was not meant to see his freedom. Tristan was a weapon, and once his fight was over he would be useless.

Taking a seat in the shadows, Tristan watched as the young Roman twirled Abigail around the courtyard with his affection for her easily read in his eyes. As Tristan watched, he remembered what it was like to have Abigail look at him as though he were the only thing that ever mattered.

_When Tristan passed her father's home, she began to cling to him as though if he let her go she would be cast out from society. He was her sanctuary, where none of the villagers' harsh words could touch her. He carried her up through the barracks towards his quarters as though nothing were the matter. Guards simply watched as he carried her, none of them brave enough to say a word against it. _

_When he came to his room, Tristan opened the door, while still holding Abigail tightly to his firm chest. "Do not fear me," Tristan whispered as he felt her tremble once they entered his room._

"_I could never fear you," Abigail whispered back as she looked up into Tristan's eyes as he gently laid her on his cot. All she could see was love and passion dancing in his honey brown eyes. She was lost before she even began, and only prayed that Tristan would forgive her for her innocence. Placing a chaste kiss upon her sweet lips, Tristan quickly rose from his place above Abigail in order to light a fire in the hearth. Abigail composed herself after a moment and watched as Tristan coaxed the flames to dance freely in the fireplace. With his back to her, she could freely watch him without feeling self-conscious. She loved Tristan more than the air she breathed, but she was young and naïve. She knew that Tristan had seen many women before her, and she couldn't help but feel inadequate when things began to become intimate. _

_In any other aspect of her life, Abigail was the loud and vivacious foil to Tristan's quiet and brooding self. However, behind closed doors, she was passionate in a different way. She spoke calmly and with her whole heart. She bared her entire soul whenever she was with Tristan and she couldn't help but worry that one day he might reject it or scoff at it because that is what she had seen so many men do to the women of her village._

_Tristan turned back to see Abigail staring at him lost in thought. Tristan frowned as he once again joined her on the cramped cot. "You worry that I will not want you after this," he said knowingly as he gently pulled her long auburn locks away from her porclein face. "I have told you before, that you are the only woman I shall ever love again. You have nothing to prove to me because I can already see the love within your eyes. What else could I possibly ask for," Tristan whispered between placing soft kisses to Abigail's jaw and neck._

"_But what if I…" Abigail was cut off by a searing kiss that made her forget her argument. All that existed for a moment were Tristan's soft lips and tongue caressing her own._

"_I could live a life free of any touch so long as you would tell me daily, that you loved me," Tristan vowed as he rolled atop her and ending any further arguments with his tender caresses. "You are my heart Abby, and if I lose you I shall lose the will to live," Tristan whispered as he drew the full skirts of Abigail dress up to her hips, gently running his fingertips up the silky skin of her thighs._

_Abigail was at a loss for words as Tristan gently guided her hands to take part in the action. She simply gazed up into Tristan's eyes, letting her own soft orbs do the talking. Before long she was bared both physically and emotionally to Tristan and he to her, but neither seemed to notice their own nakedness as they saw only the love reflected in each other's eyes. _

_Tristan was as gentle as lamb as he made love to Abigail, and Abigail clung to him long after they were both satisfied as she simply enjoyed being in Tristan's embrace. No words were needed, no thoughts needed to be aired. Both knew what the other felt and thought. Both knew that there would never be another person for either of them so long as they breathed. _

As Vanora's voice faded bringing the song to a close Tristan was woken from his memories. He felt his heart ache as he watched Abigail embrace the Roman in an affectionate gesture, and he pulled a wench over to bring him a mug of ale. He watched Abigail throughout the night as she laughed and spoke with the young Roman. By the time the tavern was beginning to send its patrons away, Tristan was too drunk to walk. He simply sat in almost a trancelike state as he watched an exhausted Abigail kiss her Roman love goodnight. He didn't move when he saw her begin to help Vanora cleaning up for the night. He didn't follow her like most nights to ensure that she returned home safely. Tristan just sat in his own world and watched as life passed him by. He barely even noticed when Vanora knelt before him shaking her head tiredly.

"You're a fool, Tristan, but at least you're a noble fool," she said as she gently tugged him to his feet and let him lean his weight against her sturdy frame in order to help him to his room. Vanora didn't reprimand him or show him any disgust. She simply helped him home because she knew that he had lost much more tonight than just his coordination.

XxXxX

Oh my, it has been so long. Please forgive me, but my muse ran away with all my free time in tow. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and read this story so far, you are the reason I have returned to it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and hopefully the next will be coming shortly.


	9. Unexpected Arrival

**Disclaimer: Don't own it!**

Unexpected Arrival

Tristan woke to a splitting headache, as well as various other pains throughout his entire body. No sooner had he felt the strings of consciousness beckoning him, than he also felt the overwhelming churning in his stomach. By the time Tristan was feeling somewhat human again, the sun was already well into its ascent of the sky. How ironic that the only sunny days that this island ever saw were those that he felt dead to it. He had not been so lucky to forget all his troubles in the bottom of a glass. He, unfortunately, remembered every moment of his torment as well as every sway of his former lover's hips as she danced with another man. Not just any other man either, but a Roman soldier.

It had been nearly two months since he first set eyes on the happy couple, yet he still felt the knife twist freshly in his side every time his gaze turned upon them. How could he not feel pain of loss? She was the only woman he had ever loved, and probably the only one he ever would. It seemed that every morning he woke the same. His head pounded, his clothes lay askew, his stomach revolted, and his heart felt broken. Slowly, as always, Tristan rose and pulled off his soiled tunic only exchange it for a slightly less filthy one. After dowsing his head in a basin of water, Tristan threw on a cloak and left his chambers.

Two months, he had watched the smiles shared between his former lover and the kind Roman soldier. Two months, he had seen his chances slip by. Two months, he had closed himself off from the rest of the fort and even his brothers. The rumors had grown from hushed whispers spread around the fort to glaring statements spoken aloud as he passed through the market. However, Tristan was deaf to the words shared about his loss of the "only good thing to ever happen to him." He was oblivious to anything other than the pain that he didn't even know could wind itself around his heart.

He could hear the whickers coming from his horse's stall as he entered the stable, and he instinctively knew that the dappled grey was entertaining company. "I knew there was a reason that he was packing on some extra weight," Tristan called before he even turned the corner to his stall. "I should have known you would be the one spoiling him," he said lightly considering he felt as though there was a brick of ice caged inside his chest.

"I have to spoil someone since you won't let me spoil you," came the rough voice of a woman who had spent too many years speaking to no but the air around her. "I see that you have not been taking care of yourself," she said as she stepped out of the way so that Tristan could join her in the small stall.

"What brings you to the fort, Líadan," Tristan asked coolly as he rubbed his horse's nose in greeting.

"My sister seems to suddenly wish for my presence here. She tells me that there is a great rift here at the fort. What do you know of this, my child," Líadan asked as she removed her hood to show a head of grey hair. The years had not been kind to the Briton, but she was no less lively than a girl of twenty. Her looks fooled many into believing she was frail, but Líadan was anything but incapable of fending for her self.

"I know that this rift is no one's business but that of the two parties. If two people choose to move in separate directions, that is their decision alone. Neither Vanora, nor Neasa, nor even you can change that. So, I suggest paying your visit to Neasa before leaving, but do not get involved in the affairs of others," Tristan said angrily as he threw his saddle of his mount.

"You used to value my opinions Tristan. Where has the little boy I met so many moons ago disappeared to? Where is the young man who used to come to me for advice," Líadan asked with regret as she watched Tristan mount up.

"That little boy is dead, and in his place a man who is fully capable of making his own decisions and mistakes," Tristan sighed as he kicked his horse lightly in the flank in order to move out of the stable. Líadan glided slowly beside him as he exited the confines of the stable.

"Then please do an old hag a kindness and tell her where this child is buried so that she may properly mourn him," she requested as she held firmly to his booted foot from where she stood below him.

"He is buried beside the child that he would have spawned had your sister not aided in its demise," Tristan replied icily as he kicked his horse into a gallop without warning, disappearing through the gates of the fort.

"You should never have told him of her pregnancy," came Neasa's voice as she joined Líadan outside the stable near the cart she ran at market.

"He had a right to know that he had spawned another…I cannot control the visions I receive, just as you cannot stop that feelings you get about others. Had I not told him that she had killed his son, he would have followed her to Fort Maia and murdered Antonius. Then they would all be dead now. Would it please you more if that girl had been viciously raped and murdered by her betrothed in front of Tristan instead simply being cast off eventually because he couldn't keep from taking every girl in sight? No matter what you say, I did right by telling him," Líadan sighed as she took Neasa's weary hand in her own. "We cannot force them to be together. We can only protect them from the forces keeping them apart."

"Perhaps you are correct, but you have not seen how they carry on as though they have nothing left to live for," Neasa said as she turned back to her stand and led Líadan behind her.

"Why do you think that I traveled all the way here in the onset of winter, sister, if it were not because I saw what has become of them," Líadan asked curiously as she stood beside Neasa's small cart. "I thought you said that you would never sell your skills. You would only lend your service to those who sought you out."

"I am not like you Líadan; I cannot keep my gifts from others who may need them simply because they scorn me," Neasa sighed as she sat on the stool behind the cart. "So, why is it exactly that you have come now, after eight long years of absence?"

"He has not needed me for eight years, so I have kept my distance. He comes to me when he needs anything, but now I see he has reverted back to his old ways. He says the child within him is buried, but I see differently," Líadan said in a weary voice as she lifted a small sack of herbs off the cart and smelled it.

"As much as you act like it, you are not his mother. You can't come running every time he scrapes his knee," Neasa said in exasperation as she snatched the sack back from her sister's curious hands.

"I saw his death, Neasa. What do you want me to do, stand there in the shadow watching while he rides off never to return? I saw them dragging his lifeless corpse back from battle because he believed that he had nothing left to live for. Maybe he isn't my child, but neither is he anyone else's. I took him in when no one would even speak to him, so it is my duty to see to his safety," Líadan cried as she once again pulled her cloak over her face to hide its withered visage.

"He is to die? But, I thought that you stopped that prophecy when you told him of the child?"

"There is more than Tristan's own stubbornness out to kill him, sister. My visions have been growing stronger as his freedom draws nearer. That is why I am here, but I fear that there is little I can do to stop his fate this time. Only he can choose to live or die," Líadan sighed as she turned from Neasa's cart and began to weave her way through the crowds toward the tavern.

"Where are you going," Neasa called out above the din of the market.

"To see the girl who has unwittingly torn out my child's heart and danced upon it," Líadan answered lightly as she faded into the crowd.

"She only did it because hers was torn out and fed to that hawk of his first," Neasa whispered as she watched her sister walk away. "Maybe she can do what we have all failed to. Or maybe she will simply ruin both of them."

XxXxXxX

"Let me go, Darius. I have to get back to work, or else Vanora will have my hide," Abigail shrieked as Darius held her in his lap tickling her into submission.

"She would have to go through me first," he laughed as he held tightly to Abigail. "After all, I do not have watch until tonight, she wouldn't keep you from me when we have so little time together as it is, would she? Isn't that right Vanora," Darius called as he rose from his seat with Abigail still clutched tightly in his arms.

"Get out of here, you two, and I don't want to see you until after sundown," Vanora called from within the kitchens. Abigail immediately calmed in Darius' arms and bestowed gentle kisses to his jaw instead. However, just as they were about to exit the tavern, a cloaked figure appeared in the doorway. Like a specter the figure entered the tavern, but it almost seemed as the shadows followed it.

"Abigail, you have grown into quite a woman since I last met you," the figure said eerily as it approached the happy couple slowly. "You must be Darius," the haggard figure observed as it reached out to touch his muscled arm which still held Abigail to him. "You are not what she needs. She needs a man who understands her without her having to even voice her thoughts. She needs a man who will give his life for her and she in turn would give her life for."

"Who are you," both Abigail and Darius' smiles faded at the stranger's words.

"I am one cursed with the sight that others wish not to see," the cloaked figure said before moving past them toward the kitchens. "Enjoy your afternoon because the ones that you share are rapidly drawing to a close."

"Stop," Darius called after the stranger as he placed Abigail on her own two feet and stalked after the figure. "Where do you think you're going," He shouted as he burst into the kitchens to find Vanora embracing a withered old woman. Abigail was not a step behind him, and she too just stared at the odd scene.

"Líadan, what brings you back to us," Vanora cried as she clung to the older woman.

"I have seen things that I fear I must change," Líadan sighed as she held onto Vanora for support of her weary bones.

"So you decide to start by upsetting my betrothed," Darius asked coldly from the doorway.

"I simply state what I see. It may upset some, but others have killed in order to be able to see what I do," Líadan said calmly, and for the first time both Darius and Abigail saw the woman's face. There was nothing shocking about the weary lines creasing her visage, but neither expected to see two snow white orbs where her eyes should be. "You seem shocked to find that I am blind to the world around me, children," she said almost pityingly.

"But then how do you know who we are, and what we look like," Abigail asked confusedly.

"Just because I am blind does not mean that I cannot see your beauty or shock," Líadan said to Abigail then turned to Darius. "Nor does it mean that I can't see where your heart truly lies."

"But…but," Darius couldn't believe her words, neither could anyone else in the room other than Vanora who still held Líadan's arm in support.

"Forgive me. I have revealed too much in my haste to right the wrongs set before me. I must find my sister again," she said as she began moving toward the door to the kitchen, but Abigail followed her quickly.

"How do you know these things," she begged as she tugged at the woman's cloak.

"What you really wish to know is what else I have seen, but you are afraid to ask. Well, let me assure you that I know that you have cried yourself to sleep every night since you gave up your child for Tristan. I know that now you mourn both the loss of him and your child. And I know that you see him watching you but are afraid to approach him for fear of being hurt any more than you already are… but know this. He is frightened as well. He is just an expert at hiding it," Líadan whispered into Abigail's ear before hurrying into the crowds again and seemingly disappearing all together.

Abigail just stood in the center of the square wondering about the old woman who had just walking into her life and yet again turned it on its head. Just when she thought that things were going to work out, everything had changed again. Tears streaked her freckled cheeks as she thought of the woman's words. They were true, and she could do nothing to change how she felt. She could only pray that perhaps one day Tristan would feel the same.

XxXxX

Okay, I realize that it has been a month and a half and that this chapter seems to come out of no where, but I promise the next one will be much quicker in coming because I have half of it written already. Please tell me what you think of this chapter. I always appreciate your opinions. Happy Holidays to everyone!


	10. Green Eyes

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything from King Arthur**

Green Eyes

His hawk glided overhead as his horse wandered beneath him, leading him to his destination at a pace belying the urgency of his mission. She had returned. That was all his troubled mind could process as he traveled toward Woad territory. She had returned again after the horrible news she had carried the last time he saw her. He had told her that her presence would forever sicken him after being told that his only chance at fatherhood had been extinguished even before he knew of it. Líadan could have warned him before her sister aided in the child's demise, but she had chosen to tell him after it was too late to stop it.

He had forgiven Abigail long ago for destroying their child for she had been but a child herself not knowing what to do. However, Líadan had known long before of what would happen, and instead of informing him when he could have changed things, she chose to manipulate him into giving Abigail up out of anger. Well, his anger toward the feisty Briton had died even before the dust had cleared from the carriage carrying her away from him, but his anger toward the old seer still festered like the flesh of a rotting corpse.

His bird swooped down to perch itself on his weary arm as they continued through the thickening forest. Looking into bright golden eyes, Tristan let out a deep sigh. "How am I to forgive what she has done to me," Tristan asked the hawk who sat preening upon his forearm. "She has had another vision. That is the only reason she would return to the fort. She feels that it is necessary to meddle in my life again, or else she would never have come," Tristan released another sigh. "I am beginning to think that it is best to leave things as they are. Had I never met Líadan, I would have died long ago and none of this would have come to pass. Perhaps, things would have been better as such," Tristan said as he smoothed the feathers of his hawk's breast.

The bird nipped harshly at his fingers suddenly, and Tristan laughed softly. "I suppose you don't agree with me. Next you'll tell me that I should forgive the old bat and take her advice," Tristan smiled as the bird looked at him approvingly. "What do you know, anyway," Tristan laughed good-naturedly as he lifted his arm so the bird of prey could take flight. With an impressive spread of its wings, the dark hawk took to the skies once again, and Tristan watched in silent appreciation. "Maybe your right," he sighed under his breath as he watched the bird disappear into the dark forest.

It seemed that the Woad activity that had been reported by other scouts was only paranoia on the Romans part. There were no Woads on this side of the Wall from what Tristan could tell, so he turned his horse about and began to head back to the fort where he would have to face his past once again. Tristan could feel the weariness in his soul from the many disappointments and heartaches that he had faced since meeting Abigail, but he knew that he would sooner die than give up a single moment he had shared with her. He had heard of her betrothal from Vanora. He had tried to hide his disappointment, but Vanora had seen through it and simply told him that if he weren't such a fool then he could have had her instead. Tristan knew that that was not the case because neither of them was truly ready to forgive themselves for their past actions, but now it didn't matter. She had found happiness once again, and he had reconstructed the walls around himself that were impenetrable to anyone but her. A long sigh escaped Tristan's lips as he saw the fort just over the next hill. He didn't need Líadan to tell him that his time was growing short; he could feel it in his bones that he would not be returning to the steppes of Sarmatia or raising a brood of children to rival Bors' with Abigail. Death was the only freedom that awaited him, and at this point he was ready to embrace it.

XxXxXxX

"I told you not to confuse her, Líadan. She is but eighteen summers old. She should not have such troubles thrown upon her fragile shoulders," Neasa scolded her sister as they sat beside the hearth separating herbs.

"She is much stronger than you give her credit for, sister," Líadan corrected as she braided several plants together.

"Whether she is strong or not does not matter. She is just a girl. Perhaps it is best if she forgets about Tristan. She will face fewer heartaches if she forgets all about him," Neasa argued coldly as she poured some tea for them.

"Yes, she will face less heartache if she forgets him, but then again she will have no heart with which to feel such pain. They are bound whether you like it or not, dear sister. I know that you did not approve of my mentoring the barbaric child that was dragged into this fort by two of his fellow countrymen, but you were not the one who saw what his death would have brought upon this fort. Overrun by Woads or burned to the ground by invaders. Tristan is invaluable to this fort whether its inhabitants realize it or not. He is invaluable to her whether _she_ realizes it or not," Líadan said as she rose from her seat and glided to the doorway. "I can feel his return. He is weary not from travel but from the burdens that his own life has placed upon him. Unlike Abigail, he has no one who is willing to share his burden and therefore his weighted down by it all on his own. He feels his own death, and I fear that he has resigned himself to it."

"Why do you care for him so much, Líadan? I never understood how you two could tolerate each other when you could not even stand the company of your own family," Neasa asked tiredly as she approached her sister near the doorway.

"Contrary to what you believe, it was not I who sought out Tristan. It was he that came to me one night barefoot and hungry. He was only fourteen, and he had had a vivid dream he told me. He said that he had heard whispers of a witch who lived in the forests around the fort, who could interpret dreams. So, he came to me seeking help. He said every time he went to sleep he saw the same pair of emerald eyes. 'Greener than the hills around the fort after a good rain, and brighter than the Sarmatian sun,' he said. Sometimes the eyes were clear as the depths of a still pond, and other times they were as stormy as the sea they had to cross to reach this island. They were always the same eyes, but the night he came to me he saw tears in them. In the tears, he saw an image reflected. He said saw himself, much older, laying on the field of battle bleeding the last of his life's blood," Líadan sighed as she felt a slight figure approaching the hut. "He saw the death that has haunted my dreams of late, sister. He saw it through her eyes," she said pointing to Abigail who was making her way home. "We could tolerate each other because we could understand each other better than anyone else. Does that answer your question," she asked as she left the doorway to move back to the hearth.

"When he was fourteen she was only four years of age," Neasa said in disbelief.

"He had had them since he was but ten, he told me. Ever since she was born, they have been connected whether you choose to believe or not. She will mourn his death even if she is bound to another, but only she can stop him from dying," Líadan sighed as she sipped the tea that was now growing cold.

XxXxXxX

Abigail was thoroughly exhausted as she trudged home through the mud laden roads of the fort. Everything that the strange woman had said continued to play through her mind and she didn't know what to think of it. Darius had seemed just as perturbed as she, all night long. Instead of walking her home as he usually did, he had told her that he had something else that needed his attention. It was very unlike him to run off without explanation, but tonight his mind was a thousand miles away.

The growing winter was cold as Abigail tried to close her cloak to the wind but it did little good. She could see Neasa's hut from where she was, but it seemed miles away as she slipped in an especially deep puddle of mud. Falling to her knees in the mess of thick sludge, Abigail let out a small cry of disgust. "Why can't I just walking home without incident," she cried as she put her hands into the mud in attempt to push herself to her feet, but it only proved to dirty her sleeves because she was too exhausted to push herself up.

"Perhaps you are not meant to arrive home yet," a deep voice said from behind her. She hadn't heard it in nearly two months, but she could never forget it. Before she could retort, two strong arms were lifting her from the ground. "I would have thought that you would have outgrown playing in the mud by this point in your life," he whispered into her ear as he held her body tightly against his own.

"Get off of me," Abigail growled as she pushed away from his firm body, only to tumble forward toward the mud again. However, before she could make contact with the mud again, she was caught and turned to face her former lover.

"You look beautiful even when covered in layers of filth," Tristan said softly from beneath his hooded cloak. Abigail nervously wiped a strand of stray hair from her face, but it only served to smudge her face with the mud from her fingers. Tentatively, Tristan reached out and wiped the pad of his thumb across her cheek, removing the mud with a soft sweep.

"Your flattery is unwelcome, Sir Tristan. Please let me leave," Abigail said with calm detachment.

"It is not flattery, only fact, and you are free to leave whenever you wish. I shall never hold you against your will," Tristan responded in a tender voice. He went to turn and leave her to her business, but her own voice stopped him.

"I am recently betrothed, you know," she found herself saying as he turned to leave her alone again. She didn't know why she needed to tell him, but before she could stop them the words were slipping from her lips. She saw no noticeable change in the scout, but he stopped and turned to her removing his hood.

"Yes, I do. Congratulations. Darius is a good man," Tristan said as he looked into her gentle green eyes. He saw love in them, but not for Darius.

"You are a good man too, Tristan, even if you can't see it yourself," Abigail found herself blurting out. "I'm not marrying Darius because he is a good man, but because he does not fear being a good man. For some reason, Tristan, you fear being anything but a solitary creature."

"Perhaps solitude is all I need," Tristan retorted as turned to leave again, but he didn't get very far.

A small hand spun him to face a very stern looking Abigail who looked up at him with fire in her eyes. "If all you needed was solitude, you would not have clung to me so tightly the night we made love. You would have bedded me, like the others, and tossed me away before dawn came. You would not have promised to be devoted to me and no other for the remainder of your life. You may fool yourself, but you are fooling no one else, Tristan," she argued heatedly as she stood her full height before him.

"For a woman who is soon to be married, you speak very candidly about our affair. Tell me, does Darius know that you are not as pure as the other maidens of this fort, that haven't been ravaged by Lancelot? Does he know that your heart still belongs to me even though your curse my name to those around you? Does he know that you carried my child until you killed it," Tristan asked coldly as he leaned down to intimidate her. All Abigail could do was gasp and clamp her hand over her mouth. "You thought that I would not find out what you did? Remember that I am a scout; nothing gets past me, even your deceit," he tormented her as he watched her eyes fill with tears. He knew he should have kept it to himself, but he was in no mood to be ridiculed by her for doing a good deed.

"She said that no one would ever know," Abigail whispered tearfully. "T-Tristan… I had no choice. He would have killed us all if he found me with child," she said hurriedly as she grabbed Tristan's sleeve.

"It matters little now," Tristan said as she pulled from her grasp.

"How can you say it matters little? That was our child. Our child! You act as though it meant nothing to you," she screamed to his retreating back.

Tristan stopped but did not turn as he said, "Why should it mean something to me, if it meant so little to you that you could kill it without even telling me of its existence?"

"You bastard," she screamed as she leapt at him. Tristan hadn't expected her to do anything drastic because of his words, so he was shocked when he felt a searing pain in his shoulder accompanied by two small fists pounding into his back. Tristan pushed Abigail away with his good arm before turning to see her land in the mud once again. "I loved that child more than you can possibly imagine," she cried out pitifully. She was now completely covered in mud; even her hair was coated in it.

"Do you try to kill everything that you love," he said stoically as she reached back and wrenched the knife out of his shoulder. Abigail was silent where she sat in the mud, too exhausted to continue to fight. Tristan looked down at the bloody knife, he now held in his hand. A smile crossed his lips as he looked at the knife he had been missing for over two months, the one that he had won Abigail with. "So you had it all along? I suppose it is only fitting that our friendship began and ended with this knife. You may keep it if you wish," he said with an oddly contemplative expression on his face as he tossed it to her. It stabbed itself into the mud between her bent legs, sending a splash of sludge onto her already soiled dress. "Perhaps if you ever find love for Darius, you will need it to murder him," Tristan insulted before disappearing into the cloak of night leaving a small trail of blood in his wake.

Abigail just sat weeping in the mud as she watched him walk away. She wanted to run after him and beg his forgiveness for all that she had done and said, but she was too weak to move or grovel. She wanted to tell him that Darius would never feel the blade of that knife because her heart was incapable of loving anyone or anything other than Tristan. She just wanted to feel his presence beside her, as they would to sit beside each other and know each other's thoughts and fears, but she had lost him. Tears filled her green eyes as she watched him disappear into the night, and tearful green eyes filled Tristan's dreams as he fought a restless sleep that night.


	11. Second Thoughts

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything!**

Second Thoughts

Tristan trudged back toward the barracks with the searing pain in his shoulder failing to distract him from thoughts of Abigail. Her mud covered form looking up at him through tear filled eyes served only to make Tristan wearier with the burdens of his failures. "Fool," he growled as he thought of how she had told him what the child had mean to her. Of course, she had loved it. It was just as much a part of her as it was a part of him if not more because she had carried it within herself. Unlike him, she had mourned the loss of her child alone in a strange place surrounded by strange people. Those emerald green eyes haunted him as he tried to cover his bleeding shoulder with pressure. Green eyes cried for him as he shut his own lids against the pain in his shoulder.

Suddenly, memories came unbidden to his tired mind. _The knights had returned from battle one night over a year ago carrying the body of a fallen brother. Kay had died in combat as so many before him, but he had been close to all of the knights. None of them came home unaffected. Tristan, especially, carried a heavy burden for he had been closest to Kay when he died, but had been unable to aid the larger knight when he needed it most. Tristan himself had not come back unscathed, but he refused to let the others see his own weakness. _

_When he did not show up at the tavern that night, Abigail went searching for him. She found him brooding in the darkness of his own quarters, but that didn't stop her from entering. "You should not be alone when you are mourning. It is unhealthy," she had said calmly as she approached him slowly._

"_I do not need your or anyone else's pity, so leave me in peace," he had growled lowly from the corner where he sat licking his wounds._

"_I do not pity you anymore than I pity any of the other knights that serve and often die around here," she said calmly as she sat beside him and leaned against his weary shoulder. "I came because you are hurting both emotionally or physically, and I vowed never to leave you to hurt alone," Abigail sighed as she wrapped her arms around his cloaked figure and buried her face in his neck. _

"_Just leave me alone," he growled and tried to pry her off of him, but she only hung on tighter._

"_I will miss Kay too, but unlike you I realize that there was nothing any of you could have done. So, I am going to sit here holding you until you realize that you are not to blame. Then I am going to sit here kissing you until I see that knot in your brow ease away," she said firmly as she held him tightly to her. It took several hours but eventually Tristan returned her embrace, and was soon enjoying her soft lips as they assaulted him mercilessly until he relaxed and fell asleep holding her._

Tristan didn't realize that he was no longer headed toward the barracks until he saw the slumped figure sitting in the mud in front of him. He did not know when exactly he turned around to return to his past love, but he was not sorry that he did. He could hear the sobbing from where he stood several meters away. He hadn't lied when he said she was beautiful even when covered in mud. Her halo of auburn curls peeked through the streaks of mud, and her eye shown an even more vibrant green behind the veil of tears. Before Tristan could talk himself out of it, he was kneeling beside Abigail and clutching her tightly to his chest.

Abigail didn't even realize who was holding her at first, but those strong and sinewy arms could only belong to one person. One person, she didn't desire to deal with anymore. She punched at his chest, but he didn't let go. She kicked out and splashed the mud, but he held firm. "Don't fight me because I am not going to let go. You told me once that one should not mourn alone because it is unhealthy. The way I see it, you have been forced to mourn alone since you left this fort. I will not see you continue on like this," he said in a gentle whisper as he stroked her knotted hair.

"I would rather mourn alone than with a heartless wretch like you," she sobbed into his cloaked shoulder. "I hate you."

"I am sorry to hear that because I shall never stop loving you. And, I am going to continue to hold you until you realize that it's not your fault that you had to rid yourself of our child. I am sorry that I said what I said to you. When I heard that you had been with child, I felt as though I was the wealthiest of kings. Then I was told that you had destroyed it, and I felt as though my heart had been torn out of my chest. But I realized very quickly that I could not remain angry at you for long, but you had already left. I realize that you suffered just as much as I did from that decision, but I was not there to help you through it. Now, I'm here, and I am not going to let you go until you forgive yourself as I have," Tristan whispered into her muddy hair and kissed that crown of her head.

"I can never forgive what I did. I…" she broke off with a sob.

"You are not to blame. Your father, the Romans, fate; they are all to blame but not you," Tristan sighed as he gently rubbed her back and stood still holding her tightly cradled in his arms. "You were but a child being faced with a world much harsher than you knew existed. You did what was best for you and probably that babe as well. Had it been born it would have faced death at the hands of your husband, or it would have faced a life of ridicule and pain," he said as he began to carry her back toward his chambers.

"But you said…"

"I was hurt and angry. I said it to hurt you, not because it was true but because it would cause you pain. I didn't realize that you already had your own pain to deal with," he assured her as he continued to walk slowly. "Now, relax and enjoy this because in the morning I am going to return you to you betrothed and pretend that tonight never happened," he said as he softly kissed her quivering lips. Abigail didn't return the gentle kiss, but she did not protest it either. Instead, she remained silent and clung to Tristan tightly as they entered the knights' barracks.

XxXxXxX

"Something must have happened, Líadan. I saw her coming this way, and now she is no where in sight," Neasa said worriedly as she and her sister sat quietly.

"Things are beginning to mend themselves. Surely you felt the two aching spirits just moments before. She will not return this night, but she will return a different woman in the morning," Líadan spoke sagely as she continued to sip at her tea.

"What if he hurts her further? He is wild, you cannot know what he will do to her," Neasa worried tirelessly.

"I know that he still loves her deeply and can no more hurt her than he could escape this enslavement. He will send her home without further hurt, but he will sell what is left of his soul to do it," Líadan sighed as she rose and headed toward the room her sister had cleared for her. "I suggest finding your bed because there is no use in waiting up for her. She is in good hands."

"I hope that you are correct," Neasa sighed as she too went in search of her bed.

XxXxXxX

They entered his room in silence. Tristan could barely keep Abigail in his arms because his shoulder was beyond painful. He could feel the chill when his blood soaked shirt stuck to his back. However, Tristan continued to hold Abigail safely within his arms until he reached his cot and placed her gently upon it. Without removing his cloak or tunic, he joined her on the bed. He knelt beside her and carefully untied the cloak from her small shoulders. With deft fingers, he pushed the fabric off her but continued to hold her gently. Next, he reached back and untied the strings of her corset before removing that from her petite form as well.

Abigail sat motionlessly in the circle of Tristan's arms as he slowly and with the utmost care removed her filthy garments. When he finally had her in nothing but a threadbare shift that was also saturated in mud, he moved from the bed and went to the fire where a cauldron of water sat heating. Taking it off the fire he carried it to the basin in the corner of his room that waited partially filled by the maids when he had first returned earlier that evening. After filling the bath with the steaming water, he returned to the cot and led Abigail slowly to the bath.

Standing beside the basin, Tristan slowly removed her thin shift and she stood naked before him as she had only done once before. However, Tristan's eyes did not rake over her figure like the eyes of a lecher. Instead, his eyes only gazed into Abigail's emerald ones as he lifted her frail body and place her in the basin. Once she was in the water, he slowly and carefully washed her as he would a small child. Each arm and leg was cleansed gently, then her back felt his gentle hand tenderly clean any lingering mud from her smooth skin. Carefully, without looking he reached over her shoulders and washed her stomach and chest. It was not an intimate caress, but that of a care giver. She had nothing to fear from Tristan; she simply enjoyed the safety of his embrace. Finally, Tristan cupped his hand in the water and brought it over her head letting it rinse the mud out of her unruly hair. Gently, he washed her auburn locks then rinsed them before finally lifting her from the basin and wrapping her in a thick cloth. He carried her to the cot again and laid her there and carefully dried her soft skin before fetching one of his many tunics and dressing her in it.

"Are you feeling any better," he asked as he helped her get beneath the covers of his bed so that she would not catch cold.

"I didn't realize that this side of you still existed," she sighed tiredly as he stroked her cheek tenderly. She placed her small hand over his and clutched it to her heart as she gazed into Tristan's loving eyes.

"It exists only for you…only tonight," he said in an equally hushed voice before turning from her and dropping his cloak awkwardly because it was becoming harder and harder to use his right arm. He heard her soft gasp when his blood soaked tunic was revealed, but he hadn't expected to feel gentle fingers tugging his tunic up.

"I did this, and still you cared for me," she said with almost a hint of awe in her voice. Without warning she took the knife that had done this to him and used it to cut his tunic so she could tear the back open and slide it off his shoulders. Tristan made no protest at her ministrations. She simply led him back to his bed and fetched the needle that she knew he kept beside his cot. She cleaned and stitched the wound before wrapping it tightly in a clean bandage. "We shall have Neasa look at it in the morning," she informed him as she tenderly rubbed his tense shoulders being careful of his injury.

"You know I shall not be here in the morning," Tristan said calmly as he drew her around to face him on the cot. "Tonight is…"

"…goodbye, yes I understand," Abigail finished for him as she placed her finger to his lips. "Just lie with me as you used to do, and I shall never ask anything of you again," she asked calmly as she lay down beneath the covers.

"Anything you wish," he said softly as he lay beside her and gathered her in his arms. He held her in silence until he felt her breathing slow and sleep claimed her. "I never stopped loving you, Abby. You are the only one who shall ever know my heart intimately, and I shall not break my promise to you. No other woman shall know my bed but you. I just hope that you shall find happiness when I am no longer there to protect you," he whispered before he too found the tender caress of sleep.

XxXxX

Happy New Year everybody! I hope everyone finds this chapter a bit happier than the last one. I hope you enjoyed it, and please tell me what you think.


	12. The Morning After

Disclaimer: don't own it.

The Morning After

Abigail woke long after the sun had made its assent into the morning sky. She stretched languidly on the small cot covered in thick furs. The heat from the hearth added to the homey feel, as Abigail was brought back to consciousness. She knew that Tristan was long gone even before her eyes did a cursory sweep of the small chamber. He wouldn't have made the mistake of letting her wake beside him because it would have been too painful for either of them to have left at that point.

Without allowing her eyes to open and break the spell that his chambers cast over her, Abigail simply breathed in his scent which still clung to both the sheets as well as the tunic he had lent her. The smell of forest, sweat, and something all his own reminded her of times past. The happy memories were just that, memories. Never again would she wake up on his cot wondering what part of the forest he was trekking through on this morning. Never again would she run up to the top of the battlements to stare through the fog in hopes of seeing Tristan's silhouette riding back to her.

Slowly, Abigail opened her eyes knowing that the dream could not last forever. Eventually she would have to rise and return to her betrothed and the new life she had chosen for herself. Upon opening her emerald eyes she noticed something lying on the bed beside her. The small creature was much like Tristan in that it had tufts of fur sticking up in odd places the way Tristan's braids stuck up. She knew immediately that it was a kitten, but it was the poorest excuse for a kitten that she had even laid eyes upon. Besides for the mangy fur, the poor creature seemed to be missing the tip of its right ear, and Abigail was almost certain that it hadn't had a decent meal in days.

"Just like him to leave me with more troubles," Abigail sighed as she continued to look at the hideous creature. She knew that Tristan had left it as a gift to her, but she was also certain that he didn't realize just how hideous the tiny grey and black tabby was. Abigail had half a mind to leave the pathetic kitten right there under the covers, but suddenly the kitten let out a soft whine as it opened its large eyes. Abigail was met with the innocent stare of the two bluest eyes she had ever seen. Almost instantly the roughed up kitten was up on its wobbly legs and making its way closer to her. "I'm going to kill that scout," she said under her breath as the kitten made itself comfortable in her lap.

Looking down at the sleeping kitten tore at her heart strings. The poor thing was actually quite adorable when it slept, much like Tristan himself. Oh, but she could not think of such things anymore, especially not the night she had lain awake watching him sleep all those months ago. Perhaps, he subconscious had known even then that they were not meant to be. Maybe she had memorized is every detail as a way of keeping herself from loneliness on cold winter's nights. Maybe just maybe, she memorized his physical appearance because she already knew the most intimate parts of his soul. However, now that mattered little since she was betrothed to another, and he was to be free soon.

"_When you're freed, can we be wed?" Abigail had asked as she had lain in the gentle embrace of Tristan's arms after they had made love._

"_Our spirits are already wed in a bond much stronger than any vows could ever boast. However, if to be wed is what you wish, you shall have it for I can deny you nothing," Tristan spoke in his lilting low voice as he wrapped his finger in her hair and gave it a playful tug._

Abigail shook herself from her memories because she had promised that last night would be the end. Instead she focused on her new charge. After several minutes of watching the tiny ball of fur sleep in her lap, Abigail sighed and lifted it into her hands as she rose from the cot. The hearth was still burning and there was a bowl of last night's stew sitting beside it for her. Abigail smiled softly when she noticed the small bowl on the floor containing just a little milk. No doubt that was all Tristan could sneak away with without getting caught by Vanora. Abigail simply placed the kitten in front of the bowl while she ate her own breakfast, before she changed into her now dry clothes and left with her new companion.

XxXxXxX

Líadan sat contentedly beside the heart in deep meditation when the door to the small hut was thrown open. Líadan did not move, but she spoke softly. "You have not forgiven, yet you still seek my guidance," were her all knowing words.

"You know you are unwelcome, yet you still come and seek me out when you have a vision. Is it not the same?" Tristan growled as he stalked to the hearth and sat on the floor beside Líadan's chair.

"You are having them again too, aren't you my child?" Líadan asked knowingly as her unseeing eyes turned to Tristan.

"Those eyes have never left my dreams in eighteen years, but they no longer weep at my death. They simply gaze on it in acceptance. Are you pleased now? She will no longer suffer for my actions. She will no longer feel the stab of lose at my inevitable demise. Now, you can leave and let me die in peace," Tristan said as he began to rise.

"What is in her eyes as she gazes off indifferently, my child? It is not your death as you believe it to be. Tonight as you sleep, look into those deep pools of emerald and see what she will bid farewell to without regret," Líadan whispered as she gently grasped Tristan's strong wrist.

"I shall not be sleeping tonight. Word has arrived; we are leaving to meet the bishop now. I shall not sleep until I return, and by then it shall matter little for I shall be free to die as I please," Tristan informed her as he stalked to the door.

"Tristan, you may never forgive me for the grief you have endured, but take an old woman's advice. The only thing that rides in the carriage of the bishop is deception, it will only bring you more grief," Líadan warned as Tristan disappeared into the morning fog.

XxXxXxX

"Abigail…Abby, where have you been. I have been looking for you all morning," Darius shouted across the courtyard as he rushed toward Abigail's side.

"Oh," Abigail said having been caught off guard by Darius' sudden appearance. "I was just bidding farewell to a friend," Abigail admitted a half truth, but she knew that she would eventually speak to Darius about her former affair with Tristan. Once Tristan was free and gone forever, she would tell Darius for then he would not feel threatened by the scout's presence and reputation.

"Of course, I just heard that your friends are to ride out within the hour to meet Bishop Germanius. Just think by sundown, you may be serving ale to freed men," Darius said understandingly as he stole a sweet kiss from a shocked Abigail.

"I-I didn't realize…" she stammered not thinking that their freedom had loomed so close. Could it really be? Could…she couldn't think about it without feeling tears prick her emerald eyes. She was happy that they would all be free, but that would mean they would leave. Vanora would probably even go with them, and where would she be? Abigail would still be sitting here once again alone except for Darius, and she couldn't bear that thought.

"What is wrong, my love?" Darius asked as he smoothed some of the hair out of her face before going to hold her, but he was prevented from doing so by the shriek of the poor kitten within Abigail's arms. "What's this?" he asked looking down at the scruffy kitten.

"Oh, he's just an orphan one of the knights asked me to look after. I haven't thought of a name for him yet, but he's very sweet," Abigail replied as the small creature licked the pad of her thumb as she held him.

"It's quite filthy, and no doubt infested with flees. I would give it right back," Darius as he took in the missing tip of the right ear. "The thing can't be more than a month or two old and already it is missing a piece of its ear."

"I think it adds character," Abigail defended the small creature just as she had defended Tristan when they were together and even now when villagers or Romans would spread rumors about him. Just then Lancelot came trudging by holding his saddle over his shoulder and looking less than pleased. "Good morning, Lancelot," Abigail called, but Lancelot seemed to ignore her.

"Don't mind him. He's just grumbling about how we have to babysit this bishop who's to give us our freedom," Gawain remarked as he too walked toward the stables. "I see Tristan found a home for that stray," Gawain said as he noticed the kitten clinging to the front of Abigail's work dress.

"Indeed, it would seem so," Darius said skeptically as Abigail smoothed the frightened animal's fur. Obviously, the cat did not appreciate crowds, which was something Abigail could completely understand.

"I must be going, but hopefully I will see you at the tavern tonight," Gawain said as he placed a brotherly kiss upon Abigail's forehead before rushing off toward the stables.

"Tristan gave it to you, eh?" Darius asked once Gawain was out of earshot. "He's barely said two words to you since we met, but now he's giving you presents?" Darius asked with a raised brow.

"It isn't anything really. He knows I can't resist an outcast, so when he found it he gave the kitten to me," Abigail lied, but frankly she just didn't have the energy to argue with anyone at this point. She was still attempting to recover from the fact that very soon everyone she held dear would be abandoning her, even if they didn't see it that way. Suddenly, the sound of the fortress gates being opened filled the air. Without realizing it, Abigail found herself bounding up the steps of the battlements to see the knights ride out. It had been her practice as a child, but she hadn't done it since leaving Tristan. As she looked out upon the open land she saw the seven most feared warriors in all of Britain riding toward their freedom. The hawk over head pierced the clear sky with a cry to the heavens themselves as she followed her companion below.

Tears came to Abigail's gentle eyes when she realized that the next time she did this, it would be the last time. She didn't even notice Darius come up behind her and wrap his arms around her in a comforting embrace. "You should not be up here. Come, I will bring you home, you are looking rather pale," Darius spoke softly as he held her tightly.

XxXxXxX

Tristan rode at the back of the line as they exited the gates, but he knew he would soon be sent ahead. There was no rest for the weary after all, and weary was the best way of describing how Tristan felt. His mind's eye was filled with the image of Abigail sleeping peacefully in his bed this morning as he said goodbye. How young she looked when she slept. He was almost sure she hadn't aged a day over thirteen when he saw her sleeping, but he knew differently. His stomach clenched every time he saw her long flowing auburn hair or emerald green eyes or tiny figure because he knew differently. He had told her that she was too young, but he knew that deep within she was an old soul, a soul that had been twined with his even before birth.

His hawks cry pierced the air bringing Tristan back to the present. He turned in the saddle for a reason known only to God. However, when he did, he saw Abigail standing upon the battlements as she had even as a child. She didn't know that he had caught her watching them ride away many times over the years. However, today had a different feeling. She was not standing there wishing them a safe journey so that they would return to her. No, today she was bidding them farewell despite the fact that they would return. She too realized the end was near; however, he doubted that she realized just exactly what kind of end it would be for him.

He noticed her betrothed come up behind her and wrap his arms around her. Tristan couldn't help but feel a pain in his chest as he watched, but he knew it was for the best. He hadn't lied when he said she would be better off with another. He just hoped that Darius was worthy of her love because Tristan wouldn't be around to protect her if he wasn't.

Tristan turned back in his saddle to face ahead, to face the future and fate. He could smell the forest getting closer. He could hear the call of freedom, but he could also feel the every present specter that lurked beside him. Death had been his companion for fifteen years. It had been a good one, taking the lives of his enemies instead of his own. However, Tristan realized that he couldn't escape forever. Soon he would meet the shadowed figure that lurked just outside his vision with a scent just faint enough to go unnoticed and a voice smooth enough to be mistaken for the wind. However, Tristan knew he was their. He never lost sight of the fact that death was always present, and perhaps that is why he had lasted so long, but that would not be true much longer. He could feel it in his very essence. He wondered if Abigail could feel it too. A year ago, he would have believed she undoubtedly felt it as well, but now he only hoped that she was free of his pain. He only hoped the gods spared her the heartache.

XxXxX

Oh man, it's been two months. I've been so busy, I'm pretty sure my head was continuously spinning since I last updated. And every time I had a moment to write, I worked on my Mummy story. However, things are beginning to wind down, I hopefully I will be able to focus more on this piece. I hope you guys are still enjoying it, and thank you to everyone who reads and reviews. You guys keep me coming back to this story!


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